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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883812">Once A Tale</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quassia/pseuds/taffeta'>taffeta (quassia)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Transformation, Comedy, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Genre Savvy, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Monsters, Romance, m/m - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:53:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>93,140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quassia/pseuds/taffeta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time a snow king fell for an apathetic servant, then a prince-turned-bear found true love in a fellow prince who almost shot him in the face. Almost. Then, of course, one can't forget a monster who found himself wanting to be more human. Bit by bit. For love. Protagonists quirky and not, sarcastic and witty and a bit too self-aware.</p><p>Every fairy tale has their typical happy ending but it looks as though these ones had to take detours and backtrack on the way to theirs... oh well. As long as it ends well, who cares if it's a little bit odd. Each story is its own stand-alone tale of romance, though there may be bonus shorts for some.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Snow King and the Bee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>originally put this up on wattpad in 2017 bc i always feel odd posting original stuff on ao3 but right now i'm like "hecc it, might as well"</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>based off of "The Snow Queen" ofc :&gt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there lived a lonely Snow King.</em>
</p><p><em>Living in an icy palace, appearing before those who ventured out into the snow, he questioned why he had to do the things that he did. One day he decided that, with his spectacular power, there was no reason that he should not </em>make<em> himself company so he would not feel so alone. He turned to the snow bees and twisted the snowflakes into human shapes.</em></p><p>
  <em>He made villagers, servants, doctors and children. He made men and women, all of them similar but none quite the same.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the Snow King observed, satisfied: "That's better, isn't it?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The snow bees looked upon themselves and then at each other and replied: "Well, we suppose so. It's kind of done now. Guess we'll learn to live with it."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>However, to the Snow King's misfortune, the snow bees made their own kind of culture and they were never the friends or family to him that he hoped they would be. With him as lonely as before, but not quite as on his own, the Snow King's attentions turned to the world outside of his kingdom, to the people who lived beyond the snow and the ice.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps he could take some of those people for his own. Better yet, he would take an orphan that wandered out into the snow or who hitched a ride on his sleigh and raise them for his own!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Be advised that emotional decisions without rational thought hardly turn out well. Be certain to consult with the nearest people possible before you consider kidnapping or actions that would be far more illegal in a modern world and not a fairytale one such as this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the end, the Snow King failed, alone once more, and that is where our story begins...</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"Your Majesty," Oskar called, knocking briskly on the door with his gloved hands. "Your Majesty, I am entering. I have your dinner."</p><p>How did he have this job foisted off on him? The last thing he wanted to do was serve the king his dinner. He was happy in his usual role: cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes, anything but dressing up for the additional cold that came when he had to go near the king's chambers.</p><p>He was quite satisfied (not necessarily happy, because what was <em>happy</em> really) with his usual menial tasks.</p><p><em>But no</em>.</p><p>This servant asked him for <em>this</em> favour, that servant asked him for <em>that</em> favour and suddenly the head servant, the one usually in charge of this nonsense, was asking him to <em>please take the king's dinner to him, won't you, Oskar? It seems as though I've come down with a head cold, I need but a night of rest</em>.</p><p><em>Head cold my ass,</em> Oskar thought spitefully. <em>We're snow bees. We can't </em>get<em> sick.</em></p><p>He rapped again on the door since he had yet to receive an answer, and strolled with a bored expression into the king's chambers. Everything was, well, <em>ice.</em> If not ice, then done up in pale blues and white like it <em>was</em> ice: the draperies, the few accoutrements, everything in this whole room (and the palace in general). So unimpressed was he, seeing the king's chambers for the first time, that Oskar looked about with eyes like a dead fish. His lips clamped together, his nose scrunched in disapproval.</p><p>Would it kill their king to throw in a bit of vibrancy? Better colour? <em>Honestly.</em></p><p>He sighed and looked around again. He hadn't seen the king on the first pass but, on the second, he spotted him. He blended in seamlessly with the blues and the whites and the off-whites of his bedsheets and... with the ice, of course. He was as pale as chalk, his eyelashes long and white, same as his long, white hair. His lips were faintly blue, like he was dead, as were the knuckles of the pale hands he had folded on his stomach.</p><p>Oskar didn't have much right to speak on colouring or appearance when he himself was the same snowy white, with only the faintest tinge of yellow to his white hair and to his much shorter and much less elegant eyelashes. The only thing dark on him were the dusty grey antenna that protruded from his forehead.</p><p><em>He </em>tried to wear more colour, at least. More than that fur-lined pale blue cape or... everything else under that, which was just pale blue, pale blue, <em>pale blue</em> and white as far as the eye could see. (Oskar had no desire to see the king in his undergarments, but he would bet one of his antennae that they were blue or white or <em>both</em>.)</p><p>He lay like a corpse on his bed and Oskar <em>tsked</em> quietly.</p><p>He had never been privy to the king's theatrics in such close quarters before but oh, did he know of them.</p><p>Poor, poor King Malthe, disliked no matter where he traveled for the cold and wintry bluster he brought with him. Poor, poor King Malthe in his decadence and with his hundreds of servants, having to do no more than lay there. Like a board of bleached wood. While everything was done for him. Clipping his nails, fetching his meals, dressing, bathing... everything you could think of save <em>breathing</em> was done for him. Oskar was certain that the king had never had to lift a finger a day in his life.</p><p>These were very uncharitable thoughts, but Oskar had never been a particularly charitable snow bee. Nor was he polite enough for this task, since he just marched right over, dragging one of the king's tables over to the side of his bed with a horrible <em>screech</em> and planting the tray on it. He began to move the dishes from the tray to the table without saying a word, even though he knew the king's pale blue eyes had flickered open and he was watching Oskar with what was probably disapproval.</p><p>"Your Majesty," Oskar droned. "Your food. If you will."</p><p>"You aren't the usual bee," King Malthe replied skeptically.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, how very perceptive of him!</em>
</p><p>"I'm afraid he's ill, Your Majesty," Oskar said. "I'm Oskar. I'm also afraid that all of the other suitable replacements for the Head Butler were <em>also</em> sick, by some happenstance. Therefore <em>I</em> am here."</p><p>King Malthe frowned some more and then plopped his head right back into one of his cold, plush pillows, staring up at the icy, vaulted ceiling of his chambers. Oskar waited, tucking the tray under one of his arms as he looked down at the food which was all, naturally, iced or cold to some degree. Gods forbid they have something warm in this damn ice palace. He would like to partake of a tea that wasn't <em>slushy</em> one day.</p><p>"Your Majesty," Oskar said after three minutes had elapsed, bowing as he (hopefully) began to take his leave.</p><p>"Oskar," King Malthe said, sighing and bringing his hand up to his forehead, thumb and index fingers pressed to it. Oskar's face went rigid, his business smile held there by sheer iron will. Don't tell him that... "Has the Head Butler spoken to you of me? I am afraid I am very miserable today. How I wish for but an ear to listen to my tale of woe."</p><p>He peeked hopefully at Oskar, whose business smile twitched, his antenna vibrating subtly. The king went right back to his theatric pose right afterward.</p><p>No choice. He was but a bee and Malthe their queen—king, as the case would have it.</p><p>"Yes, Your Majesty? A tale of woe?"</p><p>Frankly, Oskar wasn't interested.</p><p>"Yes," King Malthe sighed, sliding his fingers down his pale face. He shook his head from side to side, sending all of his white hair flying every which way. How it didn't come back and slap the king in the face, Oskar hadn't the slightest. "They have taken my son from me, Oskar. And they do not permit me to visit. What misery is this? To have your only family stolen from you?"</p><p><em>Son?</em> Oskar drew a blank before he remembered something about a snotty little village boy. He had stayed in the palace for a very short time, terrorizing the servants, while Malthe aggressively attempted to adopt this child who was <em>definitely</em> not an orphan.</p><p>"Ah. I see. That is very sad, Your Majesty."</p><p>"Isn't it?!" the king shot upright in his bed, staring at Oskar with a frown on his lips. "I have half a mind to go fetch the child myself! Show them how it feels to have your son taken from you, so they can understand what they've done to me!"</p><p><em>You only had him about a week, though, and you erased his memories as well,</em> Oskar thought but kept his mouth shut.</p><p>"I know where the village is. Where those dreadful people live," King Malthe muttered, sounding less and less rational by the moment (though his rationality was always in question, in Oskar's opinion), "It would take but a moment to travel there by sleigh."</p><p>"I'm afraid that's not an action we can encourage, Your Majesty," Oskar said. "The Royal Advisor has discouraged you from strenuous activity for the sake of your health." There was absolutely nothing wrong with him physically, Oskar knew, but the Royal Advisor had sighed again and again over the king's <em>mental</em> health and lack thereof, his obsession with finding some kind of heir. He should just find a nice person to marry and be done with it or maybe adopt <em>an actual orphan</em>.</p><p>"Bah. Strenuous activity," King Malthe huffed, flapping his slender hand. "It would hardly be strenuous to rescue my child. But that Advisor is troublesome and I suppose he has not been wrong yet."</p><p><em>He's giving up, </em>Oskar thought, amazed someone could go from determined to despondent so quickly all the time. What must it be like to have to deal with moods that were just so... stormy? Oskar didn't know, he just felt negative all the time, like everything was a bore and nothing was worth doing. Apathy was his bread and butter.</p><p>The king could do with some apathy, he thought.</p><p>"Please eat your meal, Your Majesty," Oskar droned, taking a step back and bowing, prepared to leave now, hoping the king was through talking and ranting.</p><p>King Malthe grunted, staring up at the ceiling and making no moves for the food.</p><p>...Well. That wasn't his problem. Oskar bowed one last time and made a hasty exit.</p>
<hr/><p>Day two. Oskar was going to kill every other servant for foisting this duty off on him <em>again</em>.</p><p><em>I have the most dreadful headache. It must be a holdover from that head cold,</em> the Head Butler had fretted. <em>There's no-one I can leave this task to but you.</em></p><p><em>We don't get headaches, we're snow bees!</em> Oskar seethed. Apathetically.</p><p>"Your Majesty. Your dinner."</p><p>"Is that Oskar? Enter."</p><p><em>Damn it all, he knows me by name and voice now,</em> Oskar swore. Apathetically.</p><p>He opened up the door to the room reluctantly, tray balanced on his other hand, stepping into the room. To his great surprise, King Malthe was on his feet, pacing the polished, icy floors in his fur-lined boots. His cape swished very dramatically behind him, and he had one of his hands to his chin as he thought, though he had pulled up short to watch Oskar enter.</p><p>Oskar uncomfortably fetched the table from yesterday and began to lay out the food.</p><p>King Malthe watched him the whole time and he was sure he was going to start sweating soon, if it weren't so damnably cold. "I must thank you for listening to my troubles yesterday. Indeed, having a kind ear lent to me was like a balm on the wounds of my heart," he said solemnly, placing his hand against his chest.</p><p>Oskar wasn't sure he <em>had</em> a heart, maybe just a lump of ice rock in there somewhere. Then he was horrified that somehow his curt business courtesy had been taken as kindness. What did the Head Butler usually do when the king wanted to talk?! Should he have just said nothing?!</p><p>"I have realised I may have been mistaken in several matters," King Malthe continued in a tone of voice he must have thought very pensive or wise. "And perhaps I will leave my son as he is for the time being. At the very least, I need not worry about him being starved or mistreated."</p><p><em>How did you get that from our conversation? What kind of conversation did you remember us having?</em> Oskar thought, head spinning.</p><p>"I think that, instead, I should focus on my immediate kingdom. Increasing the number of loyal subjects I have," King Malthe talked, heedless of Oskar's mounting horror that the king had somehow come to see him as far more benevolent than he was. "As well, I grow weary of the food as of late. Perhaps I will see about securing trade from other countries."</p><p>"Trade," Oskar repeated hollowly. Everything that came in or out of their kingdom <em>froze</em>. How was His Majesty planning on dealing with that?</p><p>"Yes. Perhaps I shall see about fish or meat, we are woefully lacking in variety. As for what we could send out, hm— what do you think, Oskar? Have you any wisdom to offer me?"</p><p>King Malthe stared hopefully at him, just like yesterday.</p><p>Oskar's mouth was dry but he swallowed against it and made himself think. "There is always honey, Your Majesty," he said at last, against his better judgement.</p><p>King Malthe's stare went from hopeful to blank, uncomprehending.</p><p>Oskar wanted to hit his head against something; had King Malthe no idea of what the snow bees did when they weren't serving him? "The kind the small snow bees make?" he tried, hoping for comprehension. "Were you to export it frozen, you could suggest it be used to make cool desserts or dishes, or even melted in overtly warm dishes to chill them. Even in tea it would prove some use."</p><p>There wasn't much else. Everything they made in this kingdom was, well, frozen. It would thaw when it left the kingdom, but he didn't know how anything would taste once it had thawed. Most of their vegetables turned mushy, limiting them to stews or soups, and a mushy vegetable wasn't a marketable trade item.</p><p>"Oh. <em>Ohhhhh</em>," King Malthe said, clapping his bony hands together. "What a marvelous idea, Oskar. Yes, yes, I shall speak to the advisor right away about this! You've been much help to me this day!"</p><p>Oskar bowed stiffly and let himself out of the room.</p><p><em>What on earth am I doing?</em> he groaned at himself as he headed down the hallway back where he came from, swinging the tray irritably in his hand.</p>
<hr/><p>Day three, he was no longer told that he must bring the king his dinner. He was both relieved and weirdly, strangely disappointed. There was nothing he enjoyed about talking with that strange king! Well, so he wasn't as <em>bad</em> as Oskar thought he was, and maybe his eccentric and theatrical behaviour was kind of funny and the king didn't talk down to him either, but...</p><p>He shook his head and carried on, his feet leading him to the kitchen where stacks of dishes awaited him.</p><p>Or—that had been his intention.</p><p>To his great surprise, King Malthe was out of his bedroom, sweeping down the hall with a purpose. His long white hair had been pulled back from his chalky-white face and he, surprisingly, lit up as he saw something. Then Oskar put together that the king was looking at <em>him</em>. Oh, no. He glanced quickly behind him and saw his fellow servants disappearing into side-rooms, not a one of them lingering even to be his backup.</p><p><em>Traitors,</em> he thought spitefully, his antennae twitching angrily.</p><p>"There you are, good Oskar," King Malthe exclaimed, stopping in front of him. He seized both of Oskar's hands in a cold grip that seeped through Oskar's black gloves. His fingers tingled with numbness and he tried not to yank back. "I thought I would share with you the results of my work! Would you come and walk with me a while?"</p><p>Oskar looked desperately over one shoulder down the beautiful and ornate palace hallway again.</p><p>Fellow snow bees peeked out of side-doors or around corners, grinned, and then pulled themselves out of sight.</p><p>Oskar vowed to cook all of them into a snow bee stew.</p><p>"As Your Majesty wishes," he said stiffly and followed the king down the hallway as the king prattled on. King Malthe told him about trade and that, as of yet, no bordering country was interested in trading with them, but some of them were admittedly curious about the honey that they made in their kingdom and how it could be used in their own. Sugar was a difficult thing to come by, especially in this region where no sugar cane grew due to the cooler climate. Honey was a very alluring substitute, and not that many beekeepers worked or lived in the bordering countries. Not nearly enough to provide honey to the entire populace.</p><p>Oskar listened with his face back in what fellow servants had gotten to calling his <em>dead fish face</em>, eyes seeing nothing and body moving robotically alongside the king. Except, different from his usual dead fish face, occasionally his eyes would light and he'd peer cautiously sideways at King Malthe, watching his gesticulations and the enthusiasm with which he spoke about what he was doing and planning.</p><p>It was funny to watch his dramatic way of speaking.</p><p>"—kar? Oskar, are you listening to me?" King Malthe frowned.</p><p>"Huh? Oh. Yeah. I'm listening."</p><p>King Malthe stared.</p><p><em>Whoops. Forgot to speak politely.</em> Oskar cleared his throat and added awkwardly, "Your Majesty."</p><p>"I must say," King Malthe began after a pregnant pause, "you don't treat me very much like the other servants. They all tend to skitter away as soon as they see me. Much less speak or listen to me." He sighed and twirled a long piece of his bang around his index finger. "You must have a large heart indeed, Oskar."</p><p>There was a stifled snicker from one of the doors they passed and Oskar glared at it until the door shut.</p><p>"I wouldn't say, Your Majesty," Oskar said stiffly. "Rather than a large heart, I would say I had a very small one."</p><p>"Oskar," King Malthe gasped, placing his hand to his chest. "You mustn't speak of yourself that way. Oh—you will make me weep for you. Do not doubt your own kindness!"</p><p><em>If this is what you think of as kindness, what have we been doing all of this time?</em> Oskar thought. But, that was the way of things. He and his fellow snow bees were as remote as snowfall. When they touched they only chilled, if they sought intimacy it was only with their fellows whom they didn't have to worry about harming. The king was cold himself, but he wasn't a bee like them, so they all kept him at a respectable distance.</p><p>Oskar had never been close with either his fellow bees or with any other being, so maybe he didn't understand the way of things. He tried to keep the king at a distance, but he ended up carelessly speaking his mind or offering his opinion anyway.</p><p>He must be ill, he decided.</p><p>"It's not kindness," Oskar told the king after several moments. "I really do not care about very much, Your Majesty. I honestly don't understand the point of caring when it is so much easier to live without doing so. Do you understand where I am coming from?"</p><p>King Malthe's expression had clouded and he chewed at his blue lower lip before he shook his head from side to side. "I am afraid not. I care very much for this kingdom, for you bees, and of course to all those who make their home here. And my son, though we may never meet again."</p><p><em>Perhaps I am better suited for ice than I thought,</em> Oskar thought, tearing his gaze away from the king. The king had a cold exterior, but he was all warmth and fire inside, flickering and lashing dramatically, catching at things he shouldn't catch at. Oskar, on the other hand...</p><p>"But," King Malthe continued, his expression brightening, "there are those who say life is enriched by meeting those who think an opposing way to your own way of thought. You must tell me more about why you do not care so much. I wish to learn why you think this way, and of course you may ask me anything you wish. I would very much like to see you come to realise I really think you are very kind, but I will not force it."</p><p>Oskar nearly tripped over his own feet in shock.</p><p>"Goodness! Are you all right, Oskar?"</p><p>"Fine," Oskar muttered, gripping at the nearby wall for balance as he stared down at his feet. His cheeks felt strangely, oddly hot and his antennae bowed down as though they could hide his eyes away.</p>
<hr/><p>Oskar was tired of being whispered about, about being talked about. He couldn't even scrub his dishes in peace without one of the other snow bees peeking his way and whispering something to their neighbour.</p><p><em>Stew, all of you,</em> he swore fiercely.</p><p>Besides that, he was becoming quite strange. His chest felt oddly warm and perhaps he was wrong and snow bees could become sick after all? He consulted the Court Physician about the matter, but the elderly snow bee merely gave him a knowing glance and replied it was a mere affliction that came with growth and growing up.</p><p>Growing up. Pah. Oskar was well into adulthood.</p><p>He didn't appreciate vague answers, either, much less an obvious dodge of the subject.</p><p>Clever bee that he was, Oskar also refused to consider the one thing that might be causing his ailment. Perhaps he ought to leave the palace altogether. He might die in the country outside of this one (who knew if snow bees could thrive in warmth?) but he was certain there was some snowy mountain or cave or something of the like he could go and live in for the rest of his days. A nice dark, chilly cave where no-one would find him, much less the king who was all smiles as of late and invited him eagerly on walks or to sit with him and talk in his garden full of frozen, glittering flowers.</p><p>Oskar moaned in despair, slumped on a bench in that very garden, his face in his hands. He gripped at his short, fluffy hair with gloved fingers and sorely wished for apathy, for things to make sense, for solitude and silence and the comfort that came with being ignored.</p><p>"Oskar? Oskar, are you well?"</p><p>He groaned again, louder this time, as the voice fell down on him from above.</p><p>He looked up and there was King Malthe, his thin white eyebrows raised in surprise. He looked very healthy lately, there was even a lively blue tinge to his chalky cheeks, and his eyes would often glitter as he looked about even though now they were shadowed with concern. He reminded Oskar of a child at times, though he knew King Malthe had lived long past the age where he should be considered a child.</p><p>"I'm ill. I am considering moving to a far-off land and recuperating from this illness," Oskar muttered as he pressed his face back into his hands.</p><p>"Gods! I shall have the best doctors called—"</p><p>"It's hopeless. The only cure is solitude. To become a hermit."</p><p>Silence. Then, after two very long minutes, King Malthe said, "Well, that sounds rather lonely. I would rather call many doctors to cure you of what ails you."</p><p>"It's a growing sickness. There's nothing to be done."</p><p>"Ah." King Malthe paused. "... It is not, well—"</p><p>Oskar frowned into his hands and looked up between his fingers. King Malthe was fidgeting, playing with a piece of his hair. "What?" He remembered himself and added, "Your Majesty?"</p><p>"It is not, erm." King Malthe fidgeted, unusually ineloquent. He pitched his voice down into a whisper, "It is not... <em>you know</em>... is it?"</p><p>Oskar had no idea what <em>you know</em> was supposed to be or how it was supposed to relate to him. King Malthe fidgeted more before he added, even more hushed than the first time, barely audible even to Oskar's sharp ears, "<em>Estrus</em> or whatever they call it?"</p><p>Oskar reeled back and spluttered at him, "I am <em>not</em> a female!"</p><p>"W— Well, I don't know!" King Malthe stammered back at him. "What on earth is a <em>growing sickness </em>supposed to be, then?"</p><p>"I don't know!" Oskar squawked.</p><p>"What do you mean, you don't know?!"</p><p>"I don't know is 'I don't know'," Oskar repeated himself vehemently, assured of his point—whatever that might be. "I simply know that I am not as I was! I feel warm, strange and it's not at all enjoyable, and before I know it I have shortness of breath and the physician was of no help at all to me! He said this was a part of <em>growing up</em> so what else am I to call this but a <em>growing sickness</em>?"</p><p>"My," King Malthe murmured, his eyes wide in surprise.</p><p>Oskar didn't even hear the word, caught up in his rant, worries, "And, blast it all, it only gets worse by the day! This is why solitude and silence is best for me, I am not equipped for these—this—<em>nonsense</em>. No offense to Your Majesty, but your presence seems only to make it worse, and I will soon not be able to bear it at all before I do—<em>something</em>. I do not know what, but I am sure it will be <em>terrible</em>."</p><p>King Malthe blinked several times in silence... and then he sat himself down right next to Oskar on the bench. He folded his slender hands in his lap and stared, fidgeting, at some of the nearby frozen flowers. "I do not think it will be so terrible," he said, mumbling as he said it.</p><p>Oskar scowled at him. "You can only say such things because you do not know."</p><p>"I mean, well—I am suffering from the same sickness," King Malthe continued in an even lower mumble and he lowered his head, tugging at his long bangs with his fingers. The movement was absolutely infuriatingly adorable, as it always was.</p><p>Oskar crossed his arms over his chest, defying their want to reach out for the king.</p><p>"It's only grown worse as of late, but I rather like to embrace it," King Malthe said, his tone lifting up with cheer. "So, I believe you should do the same. Don't you, Oskar?"</p><p>"Not really," Oskar said sulkily. "What was it you said about people with differing opinions?"</p><p>"Life is enriched by them," Malthe said knowledgeably. "But, in this matter, I am rather desperate for your agreement." He turned so that he was mostly facing Oskar and moved to take both of Oskar's hands between his own. There, oddly enough, was no chill this time that bit through his gloves.</p><p>... Instead, it was oddly warm.</p><p>Without Oskar realising, his pale, pale hair began to brighten, the tinges of yellow in it spreading as though part of him was defrosting from a long winter. King Malthe glanced up at his hair, then to his face and his eyelashes that were turning from white to a light yellow, and he smiled brightly, gently shaking Oskar's hands up and down.</p><p>"Desperate for your agreement," King Malthe repeated, tone determined. "Will you suffer the same sickness with me, for our whole lives from this point onward?"</p><p>"That sounds awful." Oskar scowled, unaware of the faint golden hue that rose in his cheeks, lining pale skin. His dusty grey antennae darkened, the fur on them changing, striped now with thin bands of sunny colour. "I would suggest you seek out one of the other servants, but I doubt any of them would stick around. I truly do hate having duties foisted off on me, Your Majesty."</p><p>"I know, I know," King Malthe replied reassuringly, picking off Oskar's gloves finger by finger.</p><p>When their hands touched, skin to skin, Oskar's whole body went up in flames.</p><p>Metaphorically.</p><p>That being said, a large cloud of <em>steam</em> puffed straight out of him, thawing the bench they sat on as well as the nearest flowers to them, and Oskar shuddered as he realised he felt so very warm, sweltering really, not in the least bit cold. King Malthe's eyes narrowed with pleasure and he still looked as cold and pale blue and white as always, but his hands seared Oskar's. The king's palm felt clammy, a little unpleasant but not so much to make him want to extract himself.</p><p>"This is troublesome," Oskar said. "I would rather be a hermit. But, I suppose— None of the other bees are half as useful as I am."</p><p>King Malthe beamed.</p><p>Oskar glanced away, back, away, and cautiously leaned in. To the king's surprise and bemusement, he nuzzled their faces together. He rubbed first his left cheek and then his right cheek against Malthe's corresponding ones, and then brushed their foreheads together while the king snorted, giggling when fuzzy antennae rubbed his skin.</p><p>"There." Oskar pulled back just a little, flushed gold but looking pleased, his lips curled into a smug smile. "Now you'll be sick forever with me. You ought to despair a little, Your Majesty."</p><p>"Just Malthe's okay," the king replied, thrilled, and threw both of his arms right around Oskar's neck. Planting a kiss on his mouth, he told him proudly, "I've just made you even sicker, so you need to despair first."</p><p>Oskar play-growled at him, leaning in close again.</p><p>Outside of the garden, the other snow bees (who had been spying all along, naturally) shook their heads at their flirting and wondered what would happen to their kingdom.</p><p>After all, it looked as though spring was finally coming.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Snow King and the Bee: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the eighth time that morning, a child ran shrieking gleefully through the palace halls.</p>
<p>Oskar moaned, slumping sideways against a wall and pressing his hands over his face. "I hate him," he muttered into his palms, gripping with his fingertips at the bases of his antennae. A headache pounded fiercely behind his eyes, something to do with all of the whooping and hollering.</p>
<p>Malthe, just having caught up to him, panted and smiled indulgently at Oskar. "You can't hate Ernst, he's your son."</p>
<p>"I think that that gives me more right and reason to hate him." Oskar lowered his hands, jaw set. He had never considered himself a father. Damned and to hells with that! He witnessed neighbours and <em>their</em> spawn and knew true well the torture of parenthood and yet here he was.</p>
<p>Because he knew Malthe wanted one. And they would do it the proper way, with adoption papers and whatnot, a young snow bee child who had lost his parents and was so eager and bright-eyed to be adopted by the king, of all people. At first, even Oskar had been besotted.</p>
<p>Before he had to chase the youngster around the whole palace on a daily basis, at least.</p>
<p>"My darling," Malthe said, placing his hand to his chest in tried and true dramatic fashion, "these ups and downs of parenthood just enrich our lives all the more. I for one must say that it's charming to watch you chasing after him."</p>
<p>Oskar glowered.</p>
<p>"Oh, and here he comes."</p>
<p>Oskar was certain that Malthe was hiding his smile at Oskar's unpleasant face. He got ready, his hands flexing, and leapt out into the hall to catch the dashing boy mid-run. He swung him up into his arms with a bright laugh as Ernst squealed and kicked his feet but hugged Malthe about the neck. They were such a happy picture that Oskar threatened to melt then and there, battling against a smile, his arms folded stubbornly over his chest.</p>
<p>"You have lessons," he reminded the boy, who stuck out his lower lip.</p>
<p>"I want to play tag," was the stubborn reply. "With Fader and Pappa."</p>
<p>"You have lessons," Oskar said again, frowning. "Playing is for after lessons."</p>
<p>Ernst groaned and kicked his feet. "You're always busy after my lessons are over! You'll only play with me now, and even Fader is here. We <em>never</em> get to all play together." He knew Malthe was the softer out of the two of them and was totally playing him like a fiddle, considering Malthe fixed Oskar with one of those puppy-dog looks.</p>
<p>Oskar groaned.</p>
<p>"<em>If</em>, and only <em>if</em>, I finish my work in the mornings so all three of us can play together at night, will you attend your lessons properly?"</p>
<p>"Yes!"</p>
<p>It was a damn lie. Oskar knew it. Come morning he'd be chasing the youngster through the halls again. Bah. Malthe's softness was rubbing off on him.</p>
<p>"Then looks like we have a deal with your Pappa," Malthe chirped gaily, swinging Ernst about before setting him on the floor. He easily took his hand and tugged, beaming at Oskar. "Let's get you back to your teacher and let him finish his work."</p>
<p>Oskar shook his head as he watched the two of them skip down the hall together.</p>
<p><em>Honestly</em>.</p>
<p>(Damned cute, though. Even he had to admit it.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Bear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>obvs, this story is based on the fairytale "The Bear"... one of my personal favs I wrote</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there lived a prince in a faraway land to the north. He was shaggy and unkempt, often mistaken for a ruffian or a kidnapper, and caused his noble father and mother and elder sister much grief.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One day the king took him aside and said to him, "Borenz. Could you kindly act more princely? There are rumours beginning to spread of you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ashamed, the prince replied: "Well, I'll give it a shot, Father."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>However, the prince found that changing was utterly unbearable, though he did the best he could when he attended the royal gatherings.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Truth be told, the prince found it so much more fun to prance and dash through the woods, teasing the folk he found there. He enjoyed listening to the stories of dwarves, rogues and mercenaries in the pubs all about the town, places princes should not step foot. His sister would sigh and bury her face in her hands, shaking her head when he came back covered with dirt and twigs. He would often mix up travelers or other people in his mischief (though they always had fun) and the rumours grew larger and larger, whispers passed between maids and servants of the royal palace itself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the face of his uncontrollable son, the king resorted to the last thing he could think of.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Until you are resolved to act like the prince you are, you will not leave this room," the king told his son solemnly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What the hell, dad," exclaimed the prince, aghast, as the lock clicked with a terrifying finality.</em>
</p><p><em>With him was his nurse, at the very least, and he spoke to her of all his troubles: "I don't know what his problem is. I tried, but does he expect me to be a completely different person? This is so stupid. This is imprisonment, you know. I bet this is illegal in </em>other <em>kingdoms."</em></p><p>
  <em>The nurse, who shared his opinions, pitied the free-spirited prince (and harboured a secret of her own) said: "I have an idea, Your Highness. Should you wish to escape, you must get a bearskin and a wheelbarrow from your father."</em>
</p><p><em>"Well that's weird," the prince said but asked his father for such. "Since you've locked me up in my room forever </em>anyway<em>, you might as well give me </em>something."</p><p>
  <em>Pressured by guilt, the king gave him the wheelbarrow and the bearskin and left he and his nurse be. The prince gestured at both of the items and asked of his nurse, "Well, now what?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Now, I enchant them for you. The wheelbarrow will take you wherever you might wish to go, and if you don that bearskin, you will take another form that no-one will see through," the nurse replied and, with a flash of light, she revealed herself to be a magnificent witch!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Whoa, cool," the prince exclaimed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he pulled on the bearskin, he found his form huge and beastly and he delighted in his newfound strength and shape. "Cool, cool!" he exulted. When he climbed into the wheelbarrow and it flickered with magic, beginning to float, he said once more, "This is awesome! Thanks, nana!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No problem, honey, be careful out there," the witch replied and, like a shot, the prince-turned-bear flew out of the window and to freedom.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Knowledgeable as he was with the forests and with foraging, the prince found it no trouble at all to get by on his own. However, one day in a forest far from his kingdom's, he heard the baying of hounds and soon they appeared with someone riding a magnificent horse on their heels. The man--a prince, by his circlet--levelled a bow and arrow at him but, when the prince-turned-bear spoke, the man nearly fell from his horse in shock.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Can you</em> not <em>shoot me? Seriously, get these dogs away!" the bear said.</em></p><p>
  <em>So astonished by the speaking bear, the prince bade him come to his castle, and here our tale truly begins...</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>A bear slunk, as much as a bear <em>could</em> slink, through the underbrush bordering the huge, fine castle. His lips were pulled back, baring (because he was a bear, get it) his teeth in what looked like a ferocious grin. It was actually a normal grin, but ferocious was the one thing that Borenz did well, except never on purpose.</p><p>He paused underneath one of the huge windows, flung open to let in the sweet evening air, tinged with scents from the expansive flower garden. Raising his head, Borenz peered just over the sill into the grand ballroom, searching out Florian.</p><p>There he was, a waif of a young man with fluffy blond hair all curled up around his face. He was small from head to toe, and hardly looked as though he were in his twenties. He was cordially asking some ladies to dance, bowing and offering them his hand and frowning when they turned down his invitation with smiles that looked like they were stifling laughter.</p><p>Well, that was hardly nice.</p><p>Even though Borenz understood the sentiment of wanting to pick on Florian, it wasn't right to turn him down just because of how he looked. He was much manlier than appearances would bely.</p><p>Ehh, well, he didn't have any right to talk. Picking on him was why <em>he </em>was here, after all.</p><p>He laughed, low and deep, and put both of his forepaws on the windowsill.</p><p>...Wait, would he fit?</p><p>He paused to re-examine the window, his ears twitching as his head tilted from side to side. Actually, he wasn't sure that he'd fit. He rose up on his back paws and tried to figure out a way to get himself in—maybe diagonally—when a shadow fell on his face, the light from the ballroom blocked out, and a furious Florian stood in front of him with his hands balled into fists and planted on his hips.</p><p>"What are you doing here, bear," he hissed, glaring down at Borenz.</p><p>"You didn't really think you kicking me and telling me I couldn't come would stop me, did you?" Borenz cackled, his tongue flopping out of the side of his mouth in what was totally an ugly, graceless expression, but he was a bear! Even if he had been a prince in the past, whatever, being a bear was so much better. He could rub up against stuff and scratch himself and no-one spent time wondering why, because he was a bear!</p><p>
  <em>It was the best.</em>
</p><p>Okay, so it justified his older sister calling him a savage or a wild animal back when they were younger, but that was neither here nor there.</p><p>"I did, actually," Florian snarled, fixing his pretty gold circlet with a jerk of his hand and looking anxiously over one of his shoulders. "<em>Leave</em>, you beast. There's no place in a ballroom for you."</p><p>"Bah," Borenz scoffed. "If it was a circus you'd gladly show me off, what's a little private showing to your friends?" He put more of his weight on the windowsill and Florian's expression twisted in panic when the wood groaned dangerously under Borenz's weight.</p><p>"This is a ball! You're so brutish, why did I ever bother to invite you back to my home, I should've just made you into a pelt," Florian swore, pushing his hands against Borenz's paws but in futility. Borenz wouldn't be budged, especially by a prince who was more fluff than substance. Borenz rose up more, planting a back paw on the windowsill and Florian panicked all the more, looking over his shoulder—a couple of people had noticed the neighbouring country's prince, were looking his way with vague curiosity.</p><p>"I'm coming in," Borenz said, grinning triumphantly.</p><p>"No you <em>are not</em>," Florian yelped, but it was too late.</p><p>With a tumble, the bear crashed into the ballroom and the room went up in a panic when the huge red-brown and black bear clumsily rose to four paws and looked around curiously. Screaming guests awoke castle guards made drowsy with alcohol and atmosphere, their hands fumbling for their swords.</p><p>Meanwhile, Borenz sat on the floor and scratched himself with his back paw like he was a dog before playing dumb and happily nuzzling his huge head against Florian.</p><p>Florian kicked him and Borenz licked his cravat dripping and slimy, much to Florian's disgust.</p><p>The castle guards paused at such a strange sight, looking between them uncertainly, and the other prince cautiously crept closer to Florian and the oddly docile bear.</p><p>"Your Highness?" he asked tentatively. "Is this—beast yours?"</p><p>"No," Florian said tightly. "Just a stray animal. You may dispose of it if you wish."</p><p>"Wow, you're in a nasty mood tonight," Borenz whispered, low enough only Florian could hear.</p><p>Of course, he only let Florian hear him. Borenz only made himself loud enough to be heard by people when <em>he</em> felt like it! Ha! Let Florian stumble through this one. It was a pleasure to see him in a tizzy. Just to show how much he was definitely Florian's pet, he whined and laid his head in a show of docility at Florian's feet, snuggling up against his knees. Florian was mutinous and glared down at him.</p><p>"It seems very fond of you," said the other prince uncertainly. "Is it a... tame bear?"</p><p>"Hardly," Florian whispered to himself and Borenz snorted. He raised his voice loud enough for the other prince to hear and said, "I'm very sorry that it's followed me here. I'll take it out at once."</p><p>"My, a tame bear, though," another party member said, the congregation slowly calmed in the face of such an obedient-seeming animal. Borenz soaked it in, even rolling on his side so his big fuzzy stomach was on display. Some of the ladies cooed and he looked smugly up at Florian, who probably wanted to turn him into a bear steak or something of the like.</p><p>
  <em>Best night ever.</em>
</p><p>"It's ever so fond of you," a lady commented, smiling as she watched Borenz snuggle up against Florian.</p><p>Florian probably wanted to sink into the ground and die. Borenz felt as though his revenge had been suitably taken so he rolled to all four paws, looking about before tossing Florian the smuggest look he could give him in this form.</p><p>"Thank you, my lady," Florian said stiffly and glared at Borenz as he lumbered right to the window he had come in. With little more than a glance back, the bear tumbled back out of the window and happily pranced his way back the way he had come, climbing into his magicked wheelbarrow and hanging a paw off the side as he thoroughly enjoyed the ride home.</p>
<hr/><p>Really, meeting Florian had been the best thing to happen to him in a long time.</p><p>Florian certainly didn't think so, but Borenz enjoyed it. He liked living in Florian's palace, he liked Florian's mother who liked <em>him</em>, he even liked Florian for all that he was a pain in the ass and all about <em>rules</em> and <em>protocol</em> and <em>gentlemanly behaviour</em> and <em>good international relations</em> and blah blah blah blah...</p><p>It was so opposite of how he had been as a prince he wanted to roll around and laugh his head off.</p><p>If Florian knew he was a prince...</p><p>Borenz shook his head at himself, smirking as he lounged in the small room that was his quarters in the palace. The bearskin was stretched over the bed as he enjoyed a bath in the smallish tub, kicking his feet in the air where they didn't fit properly in the tub. Florian would never believe he was a prince anyway, he thought as he scratched his stomach and yawned. He was too brutish, rude and... un<em>bear</em>able to be a prince.</p><p>Cackling at his own joke, his smile softened into a thoughtful look as he looked out the one small window in the room. Stars glimmered and winked at him merrily and he had a pang of homesickness for a moment before he recalled why he left.</p><p>Like his father locking him up could ever kerb his bearish attitude or penchant for getting himself and others in trouble. He didn't appreciate it one bit, reduced to a room for refusing to bend to the way that his father thought he ought to be.</p><p>Climbing out of the tub, he stretched and dried himself off sloppily with the towel before wrapping himself in the bearskin.</p><p>It was more comfortable than his other form, admittedly. He <em>liked</em> being a bear. As he had thought before, it was the best thing that'd happened to him.</p><p>A cool breeze swept in through the open window, rattling his room door and he turned to it idly.</p><p>Huh. Had he left that open?</p><p>The bear shrugged his shoulders, lumbering to it and pushing it closed with a rock of his back half. Climbing into the huge nest of blankets and pillows he called a bed, he rolled onto his back and soon drifted into a sleep full of Florian's face, flushed with anger, spitting with an anger that didn't suit him one whit.</p><p>All the better for it, though. It was good to be who you really were rather than try to pretend.</p><p>When you pretended for too long, you forgot who you were.</p>
<hr/><p>"Morning, Mother," Borenz yawned as he walked on all fours into the dining room. Only royalty was allowed in here, but what did he care about that? He didn't! He cared about Florian's mother, who tried to cover an unladylike snort at being called <em>mother</em> by a huge bear.</p><p>"She's not your mother," Florian snapped from the end of the table.</p><p>"Oh, and look, Florian's here too. Morning there, Florian, how was the rest of your night?" Borenz leered gleefully at him and Florian's lip curled in a snarl. There we go, he thought, that was the proper way of things. Always express your true emotions, that was his creed! So what if he didn't reveal his true form to Florian? He really did feel more at home being a bear anyway. It was far more accurate, all things considered.</p><p>"You know exactly how it was! Thanks to you, I was bombarded by questions all night! They'll not invite me back after this, and you can forget about my treatises and my trade deals and—"</p><p>"Oh, please," Borenz groaned, rolling his eyes as he walked to the table. He rose up on his back legs, pulling out a chair and sitting down in it. The chair screeched in futile protest underneath him as he started spearing pieces of breakfast on his claws and eating them quick as you please. "If you're stopped by one bear, then you aren't a very good prince."</p><p>He waggled a claw at Florian, then had to duck a glass tossed at his head with pinpoint accuracy.</p><p>Florian was flushed again, his narrow chest heaving. "Do not tell me what I am and what I am not, you—you scoundrel," he snapped.</p><p>"Oh, that's a new one. <em>Scoundrel</em>," Borenz said with a laugh, tossing a whole peeled orange into his open maw. "Bah, I say. Who needs trade deals and treatises with other kingdoms that don't care a whit about you? Not you, I say. Why, your kingdom does plenty well without such things. Self-sufficiency is important."</p><p>While he was nodding as if he'd said something knowledgeable indeed, Florian chucked a piece of toast he had squeezed into a tight ball.</p><p>"Bears," he growled, "should not talk about things they don't know."</p><p>"Oh my god, a bear?" Borenz widened his eyes, looking around. "Where?"</p><p>Florian threw up his hands, standing and storming from the room. Snorting and chuckling, Borenz leant over to help himself to Florian's abandoned plate.</p><p>"You should really word things a little better, Borenz," Gisela spoke up mildly. She had been watching their exchange thoughtfully and now moved to take her seat at the table now that the war had ceased. "That's no way to tell him that you're worried about him."</p><p>"Worried?" Borenz yawned. "Me? I'm not worried." He picked up a stem of grapes, sucking them off of it one-by-one, enjoying this body's ability to store so much more food than his human body.</p><p>Gisela looked at him knowingly and Borenz swallowed a grape harder than he would've usually, it catching painfully in his throat for half a moment. He looked at his claws, pretending he wasn't bothered, but those royal women never missed a thing. Gisela was no exception, a woman very much like his own mother.</p><p>"He'll run himself into the ground if he's always pretending to be someone he's not," Borenz said after a long pause, running his tongue over his teeth and uncomfortably tapping his claws together. "Then you get what he shows me. If he let that out more often and didn't obsess over what others were thinking, he'd be a happier prince."</p><p>Gisela smiled and picked up a teacup. Borenz admired the way she extended a pinky delicately as she drank. <em>A true lady,</em> he thought, mentally comparing her with his firestorm of an elder sister.</p><p>"You should just tell him that," she said gently, "rather than riling him up all the time."</p><p>"Nah," Borenz mumbled, lifting his snout and avoiding her eyes. "Bears don't talk sense."</p><p>"I think someone needs to take his own advice."</p><p>Borenz cleared his throat, grinning sheepishly at Gisela. She only gave him a stern look.</p>
<hr/><p>Borenz laid on his stomach, stretched out on warm earth. Florian's gardens were a fine place indeed, huge trees casting shade on lush grass. Flowers of every kind of colour were arranged thoughtfully to best showcase them to any visitors who took a walk through. It was so much nicer than his own palace. All they had back there was roses. Bah. Roses. Give him carnations any day, or a lily or two.</p><p>He stretched out his forepaws in front of him, claws scratching at the earth and snuffled contentedly through his nose.</p><p>"Bear," said a familiar voice, over his head. He opened up one eye, peering upward. There stood Florian in all his finery, scowling down at him as though he had caught Borenz in the act of defiling his gardens or scratching down his drapes or something equally as appalling.</p><p>"Prince," Borenz replied with a grin, twitching his ears.</p><p>"What are you doing laying on the ground?" Florian said stiffly.</p><p>"Napping. What're <em>you </em>doing looming over me?"</p><p>"Wondering why on earth you can't sleep in your bed instead. At least be <em>civilised</em> if you can talk," Florian said, clucking his tongue sharply. Borenz shrugged and shut his eyes, his mouth stretched into a smile no other bear anywhere would wear.</p><p>"Lay down, Florian, have a nap," Borenz drawled, not expecting for a moment that Florian would take him up on it. "The grass is warm, the bees are buzzing, you might as well enjoy the day since you're out here anyway. 'Sides, I doubt you sleep at night with how much extra work you're always giving yourself."</p><p>He chuffed in amusement and waited for a sharp retort.</p><p>When it didn't come, he opened one of his eyes, suddenly nervous. Florian was just watching him, arms folded over his chest, lips compressed.</p><p>"Say something, will ya? You're creeping me out," Borenz said frankly. "What's wrong with you? You get poisoned?"</p><p>"Shut up. I'm thinking. Not that you would understand." Florian glared—and then he sat down, right in the grass. Borenz lifted his head, turning it just so he could stare at Florian, because Florian had sat right down next to him, his back lightly pressing against Borenz's side, his knees tucked upward toward his chest.</p><p>Borenz opened his maw and yelled toward the palace: "Someone! The prince has lost his buggering mind!"</p><p>Florian punched him <em>hard</em> in the side and he wheezed. "I have not lost <em>anything</em>, so shut your <em>damn mouth</em> and go back to sleep!" he snarled. However, if Borenz looked hard enough, he thought he saw pink on the prince's cheeks.</p><p><em>Ahhhhhhh,</em> he screamed in his head.</p><p>Borenz put his head on the ground and covered it up with both of his front paws, moaning in dismay instead of giving in his urge to <em>actually</em> scream.</p><p>"What on <em>earth</em> is wrong with you? <em>You're</em> the one who's lost his mind, haven't you? Too much honey, bear?" Florian said, but he sounded more alarmed than biting. Borenz couldn't even respond to him, just flattening his paws more over his head and trying to deny every single thing about this moment and every single thing <em>ever</em>. Florian muttered a soft curse in his confusion, but he didn't get up and storm away. Instead, he leant his weight against Borenz's side and pulled out his pocketbook.</p><p>His body was soft, warmer than any person might guess, and Borenz felt every single bit of his body heat and felt like he was being scorched by it. Though he shouldn't make himself such of a presence, Borenz couldn't focus on anything else. He couldn't see the flowers, the sky, smell the flowers, <em>anything</em>. His heartbeat went <em>brrump-brrump-brrump</em>, howling in his ears.</p><p><em>Gods help me,</em> Borenz thought.</p>
<hr/><p>A marvellous carriage was right in front of the small palace that Florian called his own. It was all white and beautiful, with two handsome horses ready to pull it along, a beautiful sight in the late afternoon light. They were snorting a little now, unnerved by the bear sitting at the entranceway, watching Florian straighten his shirt cuffs and fiddle with his collar as he prepared for—something. He was even posher and arranged than usual, and that was saying something.</p><p>"You off to the ball again?" Borenz asked, glancing at the sky. It had been a few days since Florian had lost his mind and lounged with him in the garden, and the days since had been filled with other such befuddling things. Such as Florian attempting to be civil to him, though in the end he always snapped at him, but didn't storm off nearly as much.</p><p>Borenz thought he might be ill and asked Gisela to call the finest doctors in the kingdom, but she'd merely shrugged and smiled and told him not to worry so very much about it.</p><p>"Not today," Florian replied, frowning down at himself before looking to the bear. "You stay here. I'll not be long, and if I return and find you've wandered off into some gods-forsaken mud pit again, I swear I will skin you and make you into a coat this time."</p><p>Borenz grinned and said nothing.</p><p>"I mean it. I shall bring you back some honey, so behave," Florian sniffed, turning up his nose.</p><p>"You're always on about the honey thing, I don't like it that much," Borenz replied, rising to his feet and scratching his neck idly with his front paw.</p><p>"I've seen how much you put in your porridge. I'm not <em>blind</em>."</p><p>"Don't know what you're talking about." Borenz tried to pretend he wasn't a mixture of happy and concerned that Florian paid enough attention to him to notice that. "Anyways, safe trip, prince. Don't get eaten by anything."</p><p>He cackled and Florian rolled his eyes.</p><p>However, before Florian departed, he walked closer and put his hand right on Borenz's head, right between his ears. Borenz froze, body stiff and he looked up uncertainly at Florian's face. His expression was unreadable and Borenz tightened up his muscles without meaning to as Florian rubbed his hand several times over Borenz's fur. His fingers parted it gently, deftly, and it sent fiery tingles from his scalp through his body.</p><p>"All right, you— I'm— you go now, farewell!" Borenz stammered, yanking out from under Florian's hand. And, brave as he was, he dashed away into the palace on four clumsy paws, leaving Florian watching his retreat with cool amusement.</p>
<hr/><p>The evening had come and went and Florian had not yet returned home.</p><p>Not that he was concerned, right? Borenz sat in his room, sans bearskin, his foot jiggling where he had one leg crossed over the other. His mop of dark hair hung over his face and he frowned at the window. His foot jiggled harder as the worry in his gut solidified into a knot that he wished that he could just swallow and be rid of.</p><p>Nothing to be worried about, he told himself, absolutely nothing. Florian would be back eventually. He probably <em>had</em> slipped off to the ball and would be back much later. In that case, he'd put on his bearskin and go and find him and ruin his night again for Florian daring to lie to him and do things like pet him to throw him off—</p><p>As he stood and grabbed up the bearskin, it slipped from his hasty grasp and he cursed at himself as he accidentally flung it halfway across the room. He shuffled over to the skin, gripping it in one of his hands and staring down at it. He turned it in his grip, touching the fur on it and wondering if there was some appeal to it that he didn't get.</p><p>Rather—</p><p>Why was he feeling as though he didn't want to be a bear at all right now?</p><p>Borenz growled and rubbed his free hand in agitation over his head, his hair, messing it up even more than its usual disastrous state (better men and women than he had tried to tame it and failed). He was stupid. Trickery, teasing, and bearskin aside, there was no way that Florian had any interest in someone—some<em>thing</em> as brutish as himself. He lacked manners, he lacked shame, though apparently he didn't lack it enough if he was feeling it here at this late hour.</p><p><em>What am I doing?</em> he wondered miserably as he gripped the bearskin.</p><p>Florian wouldn't like him like this. But he only knew how to be this way and changing was a scary, unsurmountable task that blocked his way like a great mountain. How easy it was to don the bearskin and pretend that he wasn't weak, that his heart didn't quail with worry at everything Florian did, that he didn't obsess over the thought of him doing something Borenz used to.</p><p>Pretending to be someone else, huh? Even though Borenz still did that too.</p><p>"Not a bear today?" a calm voice rung through the quiet room and Borenz gasped.</p><p>Florian stood behind him when he whipped around. Both of the prince's hands were behind his back and he surveyed the human Borenz with such a lack of surprise that Borenz reeled. He fumbled with his bearskin, intending to wrap himself up in it and—and—<em>something</em>, but Florian clucking his tongue stopped his movements.</p><p>"Kindly leave that off," he said crossly. "I don't care if you want to put it on again later, but I've something for you and I'd prefer to give it to hands and not paws."</p><p>Borenz didn't know what to say. Swallowing against his dry mouth, he cautiously asked: "You knew?"</p><p>Florian looked at him, unimpressed. "Of course I did."</p><p>"How?"</p><p>An unnervingly long silence. Florian held his eyes for most of it—and then he abruptly went red and looked away, shuffling his feet. "That's not important."</p><p>A sudden suspicion. A memory of a slightly ajar door and Borenz's mouth fell open. "You peeped on me," he whispered, affecting a scandalised tone as he clutched his bearskin to his body as though he were naked, trying desperately to cover himself.</p><p>"<em>I said it wasn't important</em>!" Florian shouted. "More importantly, would you take these already! Blast it!"</p><p>Amused by his flustered behaviour, Borenz looked down as the prince stuck out both hands and—</p><p>He'd brought a bouquet of flowers. Lilies and carnations, white and yellow and he was startled by that enough he didn't even look at Florian's other hand. Had he really noticed Borenz liked those flowers? When had he noticed? Cautious, he looked to Florian's other hand, at the large, palm-sized velvet box there.</p><p>"'s this?" Borenz asked gruffly, putting his bearskin aside to awkwardly take the bouquet first, holding it in the crook of his arm so he could take the box with both hands.</p><p>"Just open it," Florian mumbled.</p><p>Cautiously he did. What he found inside—</p><p>He started laughing and Florian went red but didn't snap or get angry. Instead, he just watched with what Borenz could only call a <em>hopeful</em> look.</p><p>"You got a ring for my <em>paw</em>?" Borenz guffawed, trying not to collapse, his legs wobbling under his feet.</p><p>Florian's face twisted. "And a fine trouble it was to find someone to make it," he griped. "Show some gratitude, you beast."</p><p>Borenz laughed harder, so hard that he had to sit on the floor, his face ducked down into the bouquet of flowers. The sweet scent made him laugh harder until he was sure he was crying from it—and he was. Both gifts tumbled from his hands as he sniffled and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes, trying desperately to wipe the stream of tears away.</p><p>"What—stop— Don't <em>cry</em>, Borenz," Florian stammered, dropping to his knees in front of him, his eyes wide. "I swear I got a properly sized ring—well, probably, I had to guess—I just thought you would like this one and maybe laugh, I didn't mean to make you cry—"</p><p>"You're ridiculous," Borenz sniffled, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes.</p><p>"<em>You're</em> ridiculous," Florian muttered, but he sounded worried. He wrapped his fingers around Borenz's wrists and tugged gently to coax them away from his eyes. When Borenz just looked at him with reddened eyes, he leant in to carefully peck a kiss to his mouth. "...Are you ready to show your real self to me? Bear or human, it doesn't matter to me, though it is much easier to kiss you like this."</p><p>He was so solemn, serious and— Florian actually liked him. Bearish and brutish that he was. Borenz's sincere worry about him and clumsy efforts to help him had gotten through to him. Well, maybe. It could be that Florian just had a thing for bears and bears that turned into young men.</p><p>Borenz grinned at him, grin dimming when Florian leant in to kiss where there were tear streaks on his cheeks. He flushed and tried to push him away, but Florian clung stubbornly to his wrists, sliding his fingers up to wrap around his forearms as much as he could.</p><p>"You saw most of the real already," he said. "Just fuzzier." He paused, wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue. "You can't take it back, you know? And you won't be able to get out of my sight to go getting mixed up with haughty princes from other kingdoms who won't do you any good... got it?"</p><p>Florian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Mother was right," he said, "you're just a nagging worrywart."</p><p>"And a prince," Borenz added quietly. Florian froze. Borenz's grin wobbled, but he stared straight into Florian's wide eyes. "...Surprise."</p><p>Florian stared at him longer, before he shook his head from side to side. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "That better be the last secret you're hiding away." He shuffled until he could sit in front of Borenz, stretching out his legs to either side so his feet pressed to the wall, effectively keeping Borenz in place.</p><p>"Yeah. Last one," Borenz said with a smile and, when Florian let his wrists go, he wrapped both of his arms around Florian. He easily engulfed him, pulled him close into an embrace—bear or not, Florian was still a tiny thing, who fit comfortably right against his chest, blond hair tickling his cheek.</p><p>Florian sighed deeply, relaxing, and Borenz's heart raced just to feel Florian slack and comfortable against him, warm breath puffing against his neck.</p><p>...Much, much later, Borenz wondered if his overbearing and terrifyingly proper older sister counted as a secret.</p><p>Oh well.</p><p>He could tell Florian about it in the morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Bear: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A huge bear sat like a big dog at the back of the receiving hall, tapping his front claws nervously against the impeccably clean floor (less impeccable, he'd left some footprints on it oops).</p><p>"Is it truly necessary for you to look like that? This is your sister, not some monster," Florian said skeptically, a hand propped on his hip. His look gave away a mix of exasperation and affection. Borenz sniffed, wrinkling his nose, and turned his head to hide the fact that he got butterflies from Florian just <em>looking</em> at him.</p><p>"You've never met my sister. Trust me, this is one thing I want to be a bear for."</p><p>Florian just raised one perfect, slender eyebrow and turned back to watching the door at the far end of the hall. It was just them two to receive her—the prince Florian and his new betrothed, prince Borenz. Their parents would come to meet each other as well and exchange greetings but <em>somehow</em> Borenz's sister had caught wind of his betrothal before anything.</p><p><em>I heard about what happened from Nana,</em> her short, clipped letter had said, <em>and while I do not approve of father locking you up in your room, I also don't approve of you prancing around as a bear. Furthermore, how on earth did you manage to be betrothed? I will be there within a week.</em></p><p>
  <em>You'd best not disappoint me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angelika</em>
</p><p><em>You'd best not disappoint me</em> brought to mind memories of being berated for hours, being called a beast and a brute and a wild animal and—okay—they were justly deserved now, but still scary!</p><p>"Now announcing," called a servant by the doors and Borenz tensed, rising to four paws, "the Princess Angelika."</p><p>Indeed, there she was.</p><p>She was swarthy like Borenz, but her hair was a smooth line of brown as opposed to his riotous tufts of hair that never wanted to stay down. She was tall and dressed in the traditional clothing of their country, a high-necked dress covered in patterns and colours woven exquisitely into the brown fabric. She entered, took several steps... and then stopped. She gazed at Borenz, who looked back and then... turned his head guiltily to one side.</p><p>"<em>What did I tell you in my letter!</em>" she roared.</p><p>Before anyone could react, she'd cleared the whole hall, grabbed a fistful of Borenz's fur and <em>yanked the bearskin clean off of him</em>.</p><p>Florian stared in open-mouthed astonishment and Borenz winced and cowered, covering his head with both hands as his sister loomed over him.</p><p>"I said," Angelika hissed, "not to disappoint me. I came here wanting to see my brother's face, and what do I see? A bear. Of course I see a bear. Really, Borenz? Were you that scared? I swear, you never change, the slightest whiff of a lecture you think is coming and you're about to run for the hills—"</p><p>Florian cleared his throat quietly and Angelika paused. Turned her head to look at the prince and dropped Borenz's bearskin onto the floor, ignoring his petulant <em>hey</em>. "Oh, my apologies, Prince Florian. I was just so overcome from seeing my brother. I am Princess Angelika, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."</p><p>"...The pleasure is mine," Florian said awkwardly and accepted her offered hand to bow over it. "I am Prince Florian."</p><p>Borenz still cowered on the floor and looked sulkily up at the two of them.</p><p>"Leave off of that," Angelika grumbled. "Stand up, would you? Honestly. Being <em>a bear</em> to receive your eldest sister. I've half a mind to bring that back to Nana." She gestured to the bearskin and Borenz gasped, clutching it to his chest.</p><p>"No way! It's mine! It's my recompense for father <em>locking me up in my room</em>." He stood now to his full height (taller than Florian, shorter than Angelika) and looked rebelliously at her. "Got it?"</p><p>Angelika pursed her lips. "I wasn't being serious. You're such a worrywart as always."</p><p>He resented that! He also resented how she lightly cuffed the side of his head before pulling him into a hug. He was hesitant to return it, before Florian gave him a significant look so he allowed himself to lean into his sister and put his arms back around her.</p><p>This was... a little more what he had been hoping for. Borenz sighed and sagged, his head falling on her shoulder. "He was so mean," he mumbled into her dress. "It wasn't a big a deal, I was just being <em>me</em>, he didn't have to go and lock me up."</p><p>Angelika, to his surprise, gently ruffled her hand through his hair in comfort. "I know, I know. It was unfair of him. Mother and I gave him quite the dressing-down about it when we came back from the trip and found out," she replied softly. "Not even to say what Nana did. But we were worried sick about you. You could've sent a letter. Then I hear you're engaged..."</p><p>"Ah, yeah, that... that was a surprise to me too. Sorry, um... so much was going on I never even thought about it."</p><p>She drew back, cuffed him upside the head with her palm again, and sighed loudly. "Distracted by butterflies, no doubt," she said. "I'm just happy you're doing well. More than well."</p><p>Florian turned his head away, pink in the cheeks, as Angelika looked toward him.</p><p>"Have you managed to teach him any manners?" she asked him.</p><p>"...A work in progress." Florian fiddled with the foamy cravat tied at his throat. "I figure that I have the rest of our lives to work on it, at least." When he glanced at Borenz, Borenz turned beet red and looked down at his bearskin.</p><p>Angelika smiled then, bright and wide like her brother. "Hmm hmm, I see. All right, I shall leave him in your hands. Admittedly, I was worried he'd ended up betrothed to another rough-and-tumble type, but I'm happy that instead he's found himself such a refined beau."</p><p>"Sis," Borenz moaned, covering his face with a hand.</p><p>"Mother and Father will be excited too." She clapped her hands together. "So then, come on. Show me about your lovely home, won't you?"</p><p>"Fine," Borenz grumbled, affecting petulance even though he was relieved.</p><p>He hesitated over his bearskin... but eventually folded it up carefully and left it atop a table nearby. Florian's face softened as he watched and he calmly took Borenz's hand in his own, their fingers intertwining. <em>Not in front of my sister!</em> he wanted to shout but Florian was gazing at him so tenderly and Angelika was smothering a laugh and he could do naught but follow them as he was pulled along.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Bear: Bonus Short II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Borenz could say that he didn’t much like the look of the people who had come to see Florian today. Oh no, not one bit. Say what you would about him (unkempt hair, scraggly appearance, branches and leaves just <em>on</em> him) but he didn’t have the sly look that those people had.</p>
<p>He’d seen it before on gamblers in low-lit taverns, on people whose fingers never strayed far from a knife, their smiles wide but their eyes hard.</p>
<p>These people had come to get something from Florian and Borenz didn’t like <em>that</em> one bit.</p>
<p>That led to his behaviour now. The prince crouched next to the door to the room used for all guests, diplomatic, mercantile and otherwise, listening closely.</p>
<p>“—ure you understand the position of your people,” one of those sleazeballs was saying at the moment. Borenz thought they were the Duke of Whatsit but couldn’t be bothered to remember, not when he disliked them on sight. “This is a very mutually beneficial arrangement.”</p>
<p>His lip curled.</p>
<p>That was something he’d heard before, sitting in on meetings with Angelika. <em>She</em> was a force to be reckoned with when it came to diplomatic stuff. All smiles and hard edges and an unyielding core. Borenz was scared of her frequently, he couldn’t <em>imagine</em> how she scared strangers.</p>
<p>But Florian...</p>
<p>Florian didn’t have the same intimidating features as his sister. He looked soft so people thought he <em>was</em> soft when really he was sarcastic and dry, willing to put everything on the line for his people and really—Borenz blushed—quite debonair and manly when he wanted to be.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ah, no.</em>
</p>
<p>He was getting distracted.</p>
<p>He heard Florian’s calm voice clearly and listened to the edge in it when he said, “I don’t quite see the benefits for my country in this arrangement. These are all resources we receive elsewhere, we are not troubled for such things at this time.”</p>
<p>“Your Highness,” said the Duke of Whatever in a cajoling tone, as though speaking with a child. “I’m not certain you understand—”</p>
<p>Borenz stiffened and stood all at once. His pelt, as usual, was draped and pinned across his shoulders and <em>oh</em> what a fright he could give them if he charged in there as a bear. However, today his hand hesitated when reaching for it and, with a hard shake of his head, he clenched his teeth in determination and faced the door as a human.</p>
<p>“Your <em>Royal</em> Highness,” Borenz shouted, sweeping open the door with a deafening <em>clang</em>.</p>
<p>All of the people in the room jumped and Florian, a little red high in the cheekbones, stared at Borenz with an open mouth. His lips shaped his name but nothing came out, but Borenz didn’t mind him too much anyway.</p>
<p>He feigned shock, covering his mouth with a hand and planting his other hand on his hip. “Oh, dang, <em>sorry</em>, I didn’t know you had visitors! I was just coming to review some plans with you,” he bluffed, swaggering into the room, projecting more self-possession than he’d ever felt in his life.</p>
<p>Florian mouthed <em>what are you doing?</em> with wide eyes but Borenz thought he caught relief in the way his tense posture relaxed minutely. He just flashed him a small wink when he was sure it would be missed.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, who are,” the Duke of Failing to Read the Mood began.</p>
<p>“Eh,” Borenz said, turning to squint at him. “I’m Borenz, from the Northlands. First prince.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Second to the first princess, but they don’t need to know that.</em>
</p>
<p>As expected, the name of his homeland had the desired effect. The Duke of Getting On My Nerves went pale and then red, his mouth a straight line.</p>
<p>“Ah, I didn’t realise you were acquainted,” he said delicately, glancing between them.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah,” Borenz said brightly, leaning at the waist to peer at him. “But, sorry, who are you?”</p>
<p>Nothing ever brought a noble down a peg like being questioned on who they were and, in conjunction, asking them <em>what right they had to be here</em>. Barging into Florian’s home, disrupting his day, acting like he was an idiot who didn’t understand basic politics? Borenz was dumb, but even <em>he</em> knew when someone was being patronising.</p>
<p>“I apologise,” said the Duke of Finally Leaving stiffly, “perhaps we’ll talk another time, Your Highness.”</p>
<p>“<em>Royal</em> Highness,” Borenz cut in, looking at his nails.</p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p>“It’s <em>Your Royal Highness</em>,” Borenz said. “Who are you again, that you don’t know that?”</p>
<p>The insidious phrasing used to attack Florian now worked smoothly against the Duke of Fragile Ego, and Borenz watched his flush deepen as he turned toward the door after bowing tensely. His companions followed in a flurry, though a man at the back of the group turned and offered Borenz the bow not given by any of his compatriots.</p>
<p>Borenz waved in a friendly way and grinned as the door slammed after their retreating backs.</p>
<p>Florian sighed heavily. “You... honestly.”</p>
<p>“Heh heh. Sorry. I was eavesdropping and he pissed me off.” Borenz watched Florian sink into his chair and wave vaguely toward an expensive-looking cabinet. Agreeably, Borenz fetched him a cup from it and a bottle of akvavit, poured halfway.</p>
<p>After Florian took the daintiest of dainty sips, he looked up at Borenz with those bluer-than-blue eyes and said, “Thank you. I was about to correct him myself and tell him to get out.”</p>
<p>Borenz’s cheeks warmed and he glanced away before grinning again. “No problem. What kind of fiancé am I if I don’t swoop in to save you and throw my good reputation on the ground in the process?”</p>
<p>“Since when have you had a good reputation?”</p>
<p>“Since never.”</p>
<p>They gazed at each other then, as one, burst into laughter.</p>
<p>Florian was still chuckling as he turned away, his fingers brushing a piece of his blond hair behind one ear. Borenz watched him as he took another drink, a lump suddenly in his throat. After swallowing once, a hard gulp, he asked with feigned casualness, “Is it good?”</p>
<p>“Very,” Florian replied. “Did you want a taste?”</p>
<p>Borenz did. He interrupted Florian’s hand, about to pick up the glass. Twining their fingers, he pressed it down to the top of the table and leaned down into his space, until brown and blond hair mingled. He saw wide eyes and pale lashes the second before he kissed Florian, licked the taste of the spirit from his mouth and felt his sharp inhale.</p>
<p>When he pulled back he said, “Y’know, never liked that stuff that much. I always said it tasted too much like rye.”</p>
<p>Florian, red-cheeked and scowling, grabbed him by his collar.</p>
<p>“Allow me to take the taste out of your mouth, then,” he said with a dangerous edge to it, an edge that made Borenz’s ears burn and butterflies fly around in a mad whirlwind in his gut.</p>
<p>And so he did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The White Dragon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this one is "the thunder dragon" which is v difficult to find online... i read it in a fairytale tarot accompaniment book</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, in the far heavens, there lived a dragon spirit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was as white as snow, with eyes as bright and fresh as a ripe lime. He rivalled all of the other dragons for beauty and yet he was unsatisfied. He could not decide what he wished to be, what he wished to preside over. He specialised in no elements like the mighty earth dragon or the gentle water dragon. Instead he spent many a day staring despondently down at the surface world, that he might understand what it is he should do or if he would forever be a dragon left undecided.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One day, the thunder dragon, a wise and respected master dragon spirit, approached him and said: "You look very glum, Quan. Have you not decided what it is you wish to preside over?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I really don't know," replied the white dragon in a small voice. "I don't think there's anything I could do."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The thunder dragon thought, called council with the other dragons, and returned to the white dragon many days later, saying to him, "Will you not come with me? Disguise yourself as a member of my entourage and perhaps interacting with those on the surface will give you some idea of what you wish to be."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The white dragon knew not if this would solve his troubles. However, he could not refuse the kindness of the thunder dragon. Therefore he assumed a human form and, together with the thunder dragon and his servants, descended to the world below to attend to his work...</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>A young man walked down a beaten path. The path lead from the gate that opened onto his family's farm, winding its way up to the front door of the small home next to the barn. His short black hair swayed in the breeze and he was engrossed in a book, frowning down at it as he flicked between two pages, as though trying to pinpoint a problem. Eventually he gave up, sighing and closing the book with a snap and squinting against the sunlight as he rested his weight against the closed gate.</p><p>It was a clear, cloudless day but he was overrun with the strangest sense of melancholy.</p><p>It was more boredom than melancholy, but Wu personally liked the sound of <em>melancholy</em> better. It had a certain artistic flair to it that, while not suiting the situation, fit him just fine.</p><p>His father and grandmother often said that he should take his head out of the clouds for more than five minutes and think about what <em>actual</em> melancholy or whatever-it-was actually constituted. But, as is the way with any good son of an age where he thinks he knows everything, he ignored their reasonable advice, did his chores, and went on about his days dreaming and fantasizing.</p><p>Today's fantasies included a handsome young man on a white horse, making his way up to the gate Wu leaned on. He was joined with a small entourage of people, heads bowed and faces covered by cloth masks that were tied high on their foreheads and hung past their chins.</p><p>"Good afternoon," said the handsome young man.</p><p>Wu blinked. He squinted, rubbed his eyes and then looked again.</p><p>No. His fantasies didn't talk. And he wouldn't have gone with <em>yellow garments</em>, no matter how much the part of the noble it made the young man look.</p><p>"It should be blue or something instead," he said critically.</p><p>The young man blinked, looked to his entourage (they shook their heads) and then back at Wu. Wu thought he heard something stifled in the group, a snort, but he couldn't see the source, and another member of the entourage hissed a warning he couldn't hear.</p><p>"<em>Good afternoon,</em>" he said again, pointedly. "Wu, son of Yin."</p><p>Wu frowned and straightened up, tucking his book into the front folds of his clothing. He took two steps back, to better assess the situation. All right. So, perhaps, this young man wasn't a part of his imagination. To be certain, he pinched the inside of his forearm until he muttered "ow" quietly and missed the way the young man astride the horse put his hand against his face.</p><p>"Hi," Wu said awkwardly. "Do you need—I mean. Can I help you with anything?"</p><p>The young man on the horse (was it a horse? a few things about it seemed <em>off</em>) visibly relaxed and nodded, as though things were proceeding as they ought to. "Wu, son of Yin, we're tired and in need of rest. Will you take us to your father's home, so that we may rest there?"</p><p>
  <em>Weird.</em>
</p><p>"Sure. Um. I'll get the gate." He fumbled the latch and watched the young man dismount elegantly from his horse. His garments trailed on the ground and Wu winced instinctively. But he avoided the young man's eyes when they looked toward him, unnervingly bright yellow as they were. Wu stepped back out of the way and the young man, his horse and his entourage entered their land, with Wu quickly latching the gate and scampering ahead to lead the way.</p><p>It put him just ahead of the young man in the finery, who was clearly the most important of the whole group, and Wu kept looking back with a skeptical frown.</p><p>"Is something the matter?" the young man asked, lifting up his chin.</p><p>"No, nothing," Wu muttered. <em>Everything's the matter. Putting some odd things about </em>you<em> aside, there's the trouble of you knowing my father's name.</em></p><p>However, if he was dealing with spirits, best to keep his mouth shut and his eyes fixed straight ahead. Play the quiet son that his father Yin had always dreamed of but had never truly achieved.</p><p>Like his father always said, the moment he opened his mouth, things got <em>weird</em>. It wasn't his fault people couldn't understand him. Or beauty. Or fashion. Or art. Or writing or <em>anything</em>.</p><p>People were fools, that was all.</p><p>"Father, we have guests," Wu called as they reached his family's humble home. He slid open the doors, bade the young man and his entourage to wait and sprinted full-speed into the house, stumbling past his grandmother who was peacefully drinking her medicinal tea (as per usual). "They know your name—and <em>my</em> name, and just so you know, I didn't tell them."</p><p>Wu's father, Yin, blinked and looked at his son in a way he had many times before.</p><p>It was the '<em>are you daydreaming again'</em> look.</p><p>"Uh, they're <em>right there</em>, I am <em>not</em> imagining them," Wu hissed, indicating with one hand, answering the unspoken accusation.</p><p>The young man was peeking into their humble home with interest, by no means a fabrication or an illusion. Yin said "oh" and went about preparing food, drink and sitting places for them, making Wu run this way and that way getting everything ready. All the while he eyed the young man's robes and thought that yellow really didn't suit him, he'd be better off with black but he couldn't say that—his father was looking at him like a hawk whenever he re-entered the room so Yin was definitely onto him.</p><p>It wasn't his fault he wanted to correct their clothing. It was aesthetics, and aesthetics were important.</p><p>Words itching on his tongue, Wu stifled them and poured tea and cleaned dishes, watching the young man eat and his entourage follow suit only when he had finished something. One in particular in the entourage dipped his fabric mask into his soup bowl, fumbling it, and Wu fixed his attention on that person curiously. He was shorter than the other entourage members, and when he noticed his mask was dripping he made a tiny little sound of alarm, looking frantically around.</p><p>Wu picked up a handkerchief and approached the person (he couldn't tell if they were male or female, by their clothing, hair or masks), offering the cloth wordlessly.</p><p>"Oh, thank you," a small voice said, the figure turning toward him. The hands reaching for the handkerchief froze though as they were about to take it, and Wu thought he was being stared at with terror or—skepticism? Or maybe they hadn't expected him?</p><p>
  <em>Was I really being that sneaky?</em>
</p><p>Wu impatiently moved his hands, the cloth flapping, and the figure muttered an apology this time, taking it with hands marked around the knuckles with white scales.</p><p>"Huhhh," he murmured. "I think silver would be better."</p><p>With just that, he returned to his post (his father was glaring at him), leaving the figure looking after him with bewilderment, holding the handkerchief. Then he turned away, carefully patting the mask and getting a scolding swat to the head when someone noticed that he'd made a mess of himself.</p>
<hr/><p>They talked about things late into the night, the young man and his father. After the first hour, Wu began to tune it out, his head nodding down toward his chest as he fought to stay awake. What were they talking about, anyway? Something about politics or the capital or something, he didn't care.</p><p>"Excuuuuse me," a voice whispered close to him. Wu opened one eye and looked accusingly at whoever was interrupting his half-hearted rest.</p><p>The smallest member of the entourage had moved over, sitting next to him. In their hands was gripped the handkerchief from just a little earlier. Strangely, it was completely clean, free of soup stains. Wu tried to pretend like it was no big deal when he reached out to take it back with one hand.</p><p>"Thanks," he said carelessly. He eyed the fabric mask, reaching out his free hand toward it to tug at the end. The person squeaked and tried to jerk away. "Oh, I won't take it off. I'm just looking at it. It's nice fabric, but it's a waste to keep it so plain, don't you think? Some embroidery wouldn't kill you lot, perhaps around the edges, especially around the bottom. Something to symbolise—hm—I don't know, what do you think?"</p><p>The figure was completely silent, as though it didn't know how to take Wu's sudden burst of words.</p><p>"What's the matter? I know you can talk. Besides, you should agree with me." Wu huffed and went for one of the sleeves next, pinching the sagging fabric, shaking it lightly. "Look at what you're wearing, yellow was out of fashion last year, <em>at least</em>. I'm of the opinion yellow and golds should only be used for designs. If you use it for the entirety of your clothing, especially with how bright that shade is, it's just eye-searing, you understand?"</p><p>"Ummmm," the person said, unsure.</p><p>"If you want an effective mysterious appeal, you ought to go with blues. Deep blues. Like that of a night sky, what's more mysterious than that dark night filled with wonder?" Wu moved his hand away, sliding his palm through the air in a gesture that made it seem like he was gesturing at the sky.</p><p>The problem was the ceiling in the way, but putting that aside—</p><p>"You could even use yellows as stars. That would be far more appealing," Wu finished, nodding once.</p><p>"You're—really into colours," the figure said at last. It was the most words they had spoken all in a row, and Wu <em>thought</em> it was a masculine voice, enough that he could call this person a man or a boy.</p><p>"It's not simply colours," Wu scoffed. "It's presentation. It's appeal, aesthetics, everything. You lot are spirits so I understand you're probably out of touch with fashion, but—"</p><p>"What? How did you know?" the boy hissed.</p><p>Wu looked at him so long and with such a weighted silence that the boy started to fidget, picking at his sleeves.</p><p>"... Sorry, never mind. I know it isn't very subtle," he apologised. Wu could see his hands again, and saw the scales on his knuckles went all the way into his sleeves. Doubtlessly they probably covered plenty of his body. A dragon, then. He didn't know if all of the others were dragons, but the fanciest one was probably the strongest dragon.</p><p>"Subtlety is an art form," Wu told him seriously. "<em>Art</em> in general is all about thought, execution, none of which comes easily. Every creature, supernatural or not, thinks that they're the most magnificent artist or creator when they make one thing or come up with an idea, but only fools think that way. Art is work, a job, one has to pour every bit of themselves into it—and even people who do that can't do it <em>right</em>. Honestly. The book I was reading earlier, do you have any idea—"</p><p>"<em>Wu</em>," a pained voice called him and Wu turned his head, staring at his father. "Our esteemed guests are getting ready to leave. If you would, see them off? <em>Quietly</em>."</p><p>"Right," Wu grumbled and put his palms on his knees, pushing himself to his feet. He offered a hand to the still-seated boy, who flustered and flapped his sleeves before taking Wu's hand. Wu tugged him up and watched the other members of the entourage and the young man sigh or cover a smile, respectively. "This way."</p><p>He led them from the house, down the path they had come out, the young man astride his magnificent horse.</p><p>"Thank you for your hospitality. We shall meet again," he said to Wu gracefully. Wu nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts on white scales and bare fingernails that would really do better with a splash of colour on them. "In addition, my thanks for your kindness to Quan."</p><p>Wu looked at him blankly. "Who?" Then he saw the tiny figure was fidgeting, ducking his head down low as though to escape the looks of the others. The young man smiled in satisfaction and nodded his head once when he realised Wu understood who he was referring to. "Oh, right. Of course."</p><p>He paused for a long moment, circling the group to get to the gate to open it. He fiddled with the latch longer than necessary and opened up the gate wide for them. Narrowing his eyes, he found Quan in the group.</p><p><em>Quietly</em>, his father had said. Bah.</p><p>The entourage filed out one by one with Quan at the back, and Wu reached out to stay his steps a moment.</p><p>"Thank you," he told him. "You probably didn't care a bit to hear about colours and clothing and art, but you didn't run off. By the way, you should paint your nails. You might want to choose a light red, nothing too garish. Don't do that if you're wearing the yellow, though. Go with white if you have to wear these awful robes."</p><p>Quan made a sound low in his throat, a sound that soon crept out. A giggle, then a laugh, and he ducked his head down. When he looked up, Wu startled to look at green eyes as pale and bright as the flesh of a lime, his pupils startlingly black slits.</p><p>"I don't like the yellow robes either," he whispered to him, smiling in a way it showed pointed canine teeth, a sharp deviation from <em>human</em>.</p><p>Wu found nothing to say, his cheeks reddening and his hand lifting in wordless farewell as Quan bowed his body and hurried after the entourage. Wu watched them as they rose up into the sky, watched the umbrella held upside-down over the youth's head and thought of nothing at all, utterly blanked out by what he'd been privy to catch a glimpse of.</p><p>When Wu returned to the house, he answered "Nothing. Bed. Night. Bye," to his father's wordless questions, laid face down on his futon and stared into the dark until his body gave up on him and plunged him into sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>The discussion of their impromptu guests as spirits came the day after. Wu sat through the questions with a long-suffering look on his face, honestly stunned when his grandmother pitched in to solemnly agree they had been very fortunate indeed, for the yellow robes told them it was a thunder dragon and, with the addition of that upside-down umbrella, they might be spared whatever storm it was brewing.</p><p>Wu still thought the yellow was stupid but, if it was a thunder dragon, it made sense.</p><p>In that case, what kind of dragon had white scales and green eyes? Grandmother pursed her lips for a long time in thought but was unable to provide him an answer. Perhaps it was a lesser dragon, not grown into its colour yet, was her suggestion.</p><p>Quan. White and green. In that case, violet would be lovely, overlapping shades of it with white designs of leaves, flowers, vines and flowering bushes and trees all down the sleeves. He wanted to try different shades of purple, he wanted to write poetry about purple flowers and dragons and daydreamed all through his chores and his work.</p><p>Until the sky shook, rumbling with thunder.</p><p>Wu glared up at the gathering storm clouds, offended they interrupted a particularly luscious daydream, and grumbled his way straight back to the barn where he had to assure the animals were safe and calm.</p><p>When he went to exit and go to his house, wind slapped him in the face, rain screamed down from above, and Wu quickly shut the barn door.</p><p>Well, this was fantastic.</p><p>He put his back against the now-closed door and frowned into the barn as he slid down the wall. He folded his hands together atop his knees as the gale began outside. Through the few thin windows that allowed light into the barn he could see nothing but clouds and a flash of lightning.</p><p>The thunder sounded like a dragon's roar, which it likely was.</p><p>Did they make thunderstorms when they were grumpy? Or did they just do it just because? Wu tapped his cheek with his forefinger.</p><p>Outside, the gale roared but it sounded oddly distant. He turned around, carefully opening up the door a little bit. To his great surprise, the wind had stopped completely—kind of. When he slipped out of the barn, he looked around. As far as he could see, the farm was completely untouched aside from lingering wetness on the grass and buildings. As though encased in a bubble, the land inside the gate was unharmed, but outside it trees were torn from the ground and the river not very far from their land flooded over.</p><p>"Huh," Wu said and walked down toward the gate to better observe.</p><p>"You shouldn't get too close," an anxious voice said behind him. He recognised that voice and turned around eagerly. There was Quan—but missing his cloth mask. His hair, pale and white but with one streak of pale green, was pulled back at the base of his neck, and his green eyes anxiously surveyed the landscape behind Wu as wind, rain and fingers of lightning tore it to shreds.</p><p>He was in yellow again, though. Eugh. It clashed with Wu's mental image of him in violet, and he frowned.</p><p>Quan looked at him, blinked, and brought his hands anxiously together. "What's the matter?"</p><p>"I don't like yellow on you," Wu muttered and approached him. Overhead, the enormous yellow dragon that coiled over their land in a circle went unnoticed in favour of Wu circling around Quan, tutting as he tugged the fabric this way and that. "Come on. You can come into my place and wait, if you've got to stay here 'til your master's done making the storm anyway."</p><p>"Huh? I—okay?" Quan spluttered but followed Wu all the way up to his house.</p><p>"Wu," Yin groaned as he saw him leading the dragon boy inside, "I hope you are going to be—"</p><p>"Yes, yes, quiet and not weird, I get it. He already knows what I'm like, though," Wu grumbled. "So it's fine, right? We're going to my bedroom."</p><p>His grandmother chortled away in the corner as Wu did just that, forcing Quan to sit as he flitted off to the cabinetry in his room, eagerly pulling things he had been working on. Quan sat there, patient but looking anxiously around with his cheeks tinged oddly pink.</p><p>"Here," Wu said excitedly and began to hold up things—swatches, collection of different fabric colours. "This has been driving me crazy. I think a sedate violet would suit you, but perhaps with a portion done in a darker shade." He began to hold them up next to Quan's head, much to Quan's bemusement and nodded to himself as he did so, or clucked his tongue when certain ones didn't appeal to him.</p><p>Quan was remarkably patient, however. Though, after several minutes of Wu muttering to himself, he asked: "When did you become interested in such things?"</p><p>"Huh? Mother was interested in these things," Wu replied distractedly. "She would always allow me to play in her garments when she was still alive. She had all kinds, you know. Father used to buy her all kinds. Same with artwork or with writing. She had marvellous collections, though we had to sell them when she passed. Since then, it's been annoying. I've had to scrape together whatever I could, but I haven't come close to her collection yet."</p><p>Quan thought his collection fine indeed, however, upon a glimpse toward Wu's cabinetry. There were many books there, carefully organised and stored.</p><p>"I like paints," Quan told him shyly. "I especially like those for nails, though I have never used all of the ones that I have. When with a master dragon, we must align with what he wishes to show. As a thunder dragon..."</p><p>"Yellow," Wu said scathingly. "Well, no matter, I imagine you shall be a master dragon or what have you one day. When that comes, I will design you clothing and help paint your nails or—talons, whichever. I assume you turn into a dragon like your master."</p><p>Quan nodded again, a subtle light in his green eyes. "Smaller," he said bashfully.</p><p>"Easier to design things for, then," Wu said in a triumphant tone.</p><p>Quan just laughed, the pink tinge to his cheeks deepening. Wu finished with his swatches of fabric, tucking the ones he liked away for reference. Satisfied, he sat in front of Quan, studying him all over again, the pale white scales that flecked his cheeks, covered the entire sides of his neck before his body was swallowed up by his clothing.</p><p>"Do you like poetry?" Wu asked, he himself feeling the question abrupt. But when Quan's eyes lit up, he was satisfied.</p><p>And, as he noted to himself later, he truly did feel inspired whenever Quan was with him.</p>
<hr/><p>The nearby village was devastated by the storm. Wu could see them even from here, squinting against the bright sunlight that cruelly followed on the heels of the storm. Quan stood just to his left as they exited the house, his eyes open up wide, looking to the left and right for his master.</p><p>The young man appeared, astride his horse once again and this time he did not come up toward the residence, forcing boy and dragon both down to meet him. Quan dipped into a deep, respectful bow and stayed there while the thunder dragon yawned and looked at the devastation with a calm face.</p><p>Work was work, Wu supposed.</p><p>"I again thank you for your kindness to Quan," said the thunder dragon. "I have returned the kindness paid me, as well, and I have a gift for you before I go."</p><p>Wu blinked and raised his eyebrows uncertainly. "Gift? Uhm."</p><p>The thunder dragon plucked something from his horse's neck and held it out to him. When Wu looked at it, he realised it was a scale, pearly in colour, oddly shining.</p><p>"What will that do when I touch it," Wu asked monotonously, pointing at it.</p><p>The thunder dragon's eyes widened—and then he snorted with laughter. "You need not treat it with such caution," he said brightly. "It will bestow upon you a great future."</p><p>Wu compressed his lips, staring at the scale without moving to take it.</p><p>"You do not wish for it?" the thunder dragon asked, inclining his head mildly to one side.</p><p>"Not really. If I had to have anything, I'd much rather have my mother's collection back with me," Wu said frankly, eyeing the scale. Then, before he knew it, Quan had moved quickly, taking the scale and depositing it into Wu's hand. He forced Wu's fingers closed around it and gripped that hand between both of his.</p><p>"It'll help," Quan told him with a smile that showed his canine teeth.</p><p>"You're forceful when you're not being shy," Wu said. Quan blinked and yanked his hands away, going pink as the thunder dragon laughed once more.</p><p>"With that, we bid you farewell," the thunder dragon said, curving his hand to his chest and half-bowing where he sat astride his horse. "Quan?" Quan nodded quickly, scampering to join his master as Wu hung back and eyed the scale within his fingers.</p><p>"Before you go," Wu called as they both turned to leave, "I expect you dragons will have an idea of what's going on down here, but I'll call for you in a month or so. Make certain you come, okay?"</p><p>"You presume to order dragon spirits?" the thunder dragon asked with amusement.</p><p>"You'll like it," Wu replied, lifting his chin arrogantly.</p><p>The thunder dragon laughed some more, saying, "I like humans like you. You're quite interesting. Right, Quan? Very well, we shall wait for your call and come to visit you again."</p><p>Wu grinned, satisfied, and, when Quan looked back at him, he daringly blew him a kiss.</p><p>Flushing, Quan hastily followed his master as they headed upward into the clouds.</p><p>---------------------------</p><p>Not long after the dragons had departed, people came to Wu, son of Yin's, home.</p><p>It was as they had known of the existence of the magnificent scale the thunder dragon had gifted to him. They bade him come to the palace of the emperor, and there he went.</p><p>Some were disappointed, however, when he said a flat  "Magic? A magician? Me? No way," to the emperor's announcement that he should be made the court magician. Instead, since he had so kindly been given this rare chance, Wu readily whipped out an example of some of his <em>other</em> work...</p>
<hr/><p>"You've called—oh, my." The thunder dragon paused mid-word, looking about the room where he stood. He had appeared in a flicker of light and, by his side, was a timid Quan, who wasn't so timid once he realised where they were. The room was enormous—and an enormous mess. Clothing and fabric were everywhere, canvases leant against the wall to dry or ink splotches on the floor surrounding long sheets of parchment.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," a voice came from behind a stack of fabric. "Hang on a second. I'm just getting them."</p><p>Wu emerged and he was the same as when the dragon spirits had left one month prior. Except, he was even more mussed than he had ever been back on the farm. His clothing <em>should</em> have been befitting of his new station, but he had discarded the top half of it and rolled up his sleeves for ease of motion and carried in his arms two wrapped bundles.</p><p>"Here you go, thunder dragon," Wu said, placing one paper-wrapped bundle on the floor tenderly before offering the other to the dragon garbed in yellow.</p><p>Curiously, the young man took it, peeling back the wrapping.</p><p>"Well," he murmured, impressed. He gripped the fabric inside and pulled it free—it was dark, a deep grey-blue like thunderclouds, but covering the entire back of the robe were designs. Rain, lightning bolts, each carefully stitched, following a pattern so that they formed a serpentine shape all the way up to the collar, the other half of the pattern looping around the waist to the chest of the garment.</p><p>"Now," Wu said triumphantly, "that I'm court clothier, I've got all the material to work that I could ever want. Hence, we can actually make you something decent. I know, I know, spirit clothing or magic or something, but trust me when I say this will make you look even grander. I've no doubt it's the right size, but if it doesn't fit, come back here and I'll make the proper adjustments."</p><p>The thunder dragon carefully folded the robe, laying it over his arm and baring his (just as fanged as Quan's) teeth in a grin. "Very well, Wu, son of Yin. I gratefully accept your offering."</p><p>"It's not really an offering," Wu muttered to himself, thinking that it was so the thunder dragon didn't embarrass himself any more than he (unknowingly) had.</p><p>"Um," Quan said tentatively, shuffling his feet.</p><p>"Ah, right, and for <em>you</em>—"</p><p>"I shall step out for a while," the thunder dragon smoothly interjected, still holding the robe. "It's been quite some time since I visited with the emperor, so I think I shall go remind him of his mortality. Please take your time, Quan."</p><p>"Huh? Master—"</p><p>The thunder dragon grandly swept out of the messy room, leaving Wu and Quan alone.</p><p>"Now, like I was saying," Wu said, scooping the other package off the floor, "I've finished it. Take off your clothes."</p><p>"Pardon?" Quan squeaked.</p><p>Wu narrowed his dark eyes and frowned at him. "Clothes. Off. I'm sick to death of seeing that thing on you."</p><p>"You never asked the thunder dragon to take his clothes off," Quan said, narrowing his pale eyes as though he were trying to seem intimidating.</p><p>Several moments of silence.</p><p>Wu casually looked away, shifting the package in his grip. "At this time you're just supposed to do what I say," he mumbled, thrown off, his carefully crafted (?) plans thrown into disarray. "I don't know what to do when you start questioning it. Anyway, I don't want to see thunder dragon without his clothes, I'd much rather that be you."</p><p>Quan went red right to the tips of his ears, speechless.</p><p>"Understand?" Wu said, peering back toward him.</p><p>"I'm not taking them off," Quan muttered, "though I understand."</p><p>Wu frowned.</p><p>Quan just expectantly stretched out his hands, reaching for the package. With a sigh, Wu deposited it in his hands, standing back and letting the dragon spirit unwrap it—it was just as grand as the robe made for the thunder dragon, if not more so. Wu had decided on the palette of purples he wanted, making such a garment that Quan looked like he were loath to touch it and damage it somehow. All along the sleeves, over the chest and upper back of the garment were flowers, from bud to bloom, each stitched very carefully in a light purple, standing out against the darker shades.</p><p>"It's beautiful," Quan murmured, his eyes wide with wonder.</p><p>"Thanks." Wu scratched his cheek with a finger, shuffling his foot against the floor and, for once, out of things to say. "You inspired me. I, um. Made a matching one. For me. To wear with yours. You know. Um."</p><p>He coughed and Quan started to smile, a smile that changed into a fanged grin as laughter bubbled out of him.</p><p>"You talk so much but you don't know what to say <em>now</em>?" he laughed.</p><p>"You're cheekier than I thought," Wu huffed, red blooming in his cheeks.</p><p>"It's because I've gotten used to you, Wu," Quan replied, his grin growing but his eyes pretty and soft, filled with <em>something</em> as he looked at Wu. There was bashfulness in his voice still, but he spoke in a straightforward and clear manner. "...I'd like for us to wear them together."</p><p>"Mmmm."</p><p>"Alone together?" Quan continued hopefully. Wu looked at him... and then he nodded, satisfied. He stepped closer and offered both of his hands to Quan who looked at them with puzzlement before he brightened and placed his own hands in them, the robe draped over his forearms for the moment.</p><p>Ducking, Wu pressed a kiss to his forehead, provoking a torrent of giggles again.</p><p>"I'll ask you not to laugh—" Wu began snappishly, offended, when Quan gripped at his hands firmly with his own, leaned up and kissed his mouth without reservation or shyness.</p><p>Wu looked at Quan, as though he was debating what to say to him but, in the end, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat and declared: "Well, s'pose a little laughing is all right."</p><p>From that day onward, the dragon spirit of inspiration and the court clothier lived happily ever after.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The White Dragon: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As a dragon and a spirit, of course Quan had business to attend to in the spirit realm or whatever-you'd-call-it.</p>
<p>Still, Wu was annoyed whenever he had to go away. So much so that he wondered how he worked alone to begin with. These days, since Quan had found what he would be master of, he had always stayed with Wu. He said that he wanted to be nowhere else and here was where he was required most of all.</p>
<p>He said, with that shy yet sneaky little smile of his. Hmph.</p>
<p>It just about screamed <em>Wu would be lonely without me</em>.</p>
<p>And now he was. So he supposed Quan was too correct.</p>
<p>Sighing irritably, Wu glared down at the clothing he was working on. A fine robe indeed, fit for the emperor. He had been meticulously stitching the embroidery edging the sleeves, but his heart truly wasn't in it. Surely he wasn't bereft of talent without Quan here? He had always been able to make clothes before, come up with poetry or stories or what have you, but now all he wanted to do was curl up in bed and yell into the pillow.</p>
<p>"You seem very despondent, Wu son of Yin," a familiar voice said from the doorway. Jerking his head up, he saw the thunder dragon Cao Guanyu.</p>
<p>"What, thunder dragon," Wu muttered petulantly, "here to visit the Emperor, are you?"</p>
<p>"Not today," Cao Guanyu said enigmatically. "There is an honourable student in this city that has snagged my attention as of late. And I thought of you while I was here."</p>
<p>Wu just stuck out his lips, bad mood not improving. He wasn't interested in what the thunder dragon did but seeing him reminded him again of Quan's absence. His chest ached, empty and not even the presence of another person could improve it.</p>
<p>"So despondent." Guanyu shook his head, his fingers lifting to idly fix the collar of his clothing. It was what Wu had made for him, but on the thunder dragon the embroidery took on a life of its own. The clouds and the rain moved in ways regular clothing should not. "Here. I shall call for tea and snacks and perhaps your mood will improve enough for you to converse."</p>
<p>"Mnngh."</p>
<p>Admittedly, his mood lifted some after drinking the lu'an melon seed tea and sesame seed balls filled with thick, sweet black bean paste that a servant brought.</p>
<p>Guanyu enjoyed himself far too much when Wu was miserable, however, the clothier thought, but Guanyu was absolutely impossible to argue against or to strike down anything he said. At all. Was it Guanyu's thousands of years of life? Hard to say.</p>
<p>"You know that he will be back in the day after next, yes?"</p>
<p>"Of course," Wu said. "He told me."</p>
<p>"Hmm. Yet still, a mere five days and what a marvellous sulk you are in."</p>
<p>"Why are you picking at me today?" Wu groaned and flopped backwards dramatically. Guanyu chuckled. "I do not find it near so amusing as you! What if others are being mean to him? You know what Quan is like."</p>
<p>"You worry overmuch. He is quite capable of taking care of himself."</p>
<p>Wu pouted at the ceiling.</p>
<p>"Rather, I am more concerned about you. Are <em>you</em> capable of taking care of yourself without Quan?"</p>
<p>Wu raised his head to glare at the thunder dragon who looked back, unaffected. "Of course I am! I always am. What are you even talking about, thunder dragon?"</p>
<p>"Who knows." Guanyu shook his head with the unhelpful answer. "Well, at any rate, finish your tea and your snacks and do try to cheer up. I must be off."</p>
<p>Wu sat up, squinting at him. "To talk to your student?"</p>
<p>"Who knows," Guanyu said again with a chuckle. With a wave of his hand, he swept elegantly from the room, so composed that Wu was envious.</p>
<p>He sat up, pillowing his arms on the table they had eaten on, his chin perched on them as he sighed. His eyes closed and he thought again how quiet it was when Quan was not here. Oh, sure, there were still the sounds of the palace and such, but none soothed the aggravated itch. Not even his favourite activities could. He clenched his fingers on his arms and he buried his face further, nose smushed into the crook of his arm.</p>
<p>Quan would be back soon.</p>
<p>It would not be the day after next, either. It was that very night when Wu awoke, the skin on the back of his neck tingling sharply. He shot out of bed in his underclothes, rushing to the large window of his room which he threw open to greet the night air.</p>
<p>A long, beautiful white dragon wove through the air as though it were swimming, making its way straight toward the now-open window and the terrace that Wu had emerged on. He boldly stretched open his arms and he heard the dragon laugh in his head in a soft, sweet voice.</p>
<p>Quan changed mid-air, instantaneous, his light body falling straight down into Wu's—</p>
<p>And knocking him prone. Wu was not a strong young man, not near as strong as he thought he was.</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry!" Quan spluttered, panicked, reaching down to cup Wu's cheeks and urge him to lift his head. "Are you all right, Wu?"</p>
<p>"Mmm," Wu grunted, raising himself up. Quan straddled his midsection, fretting, but then when Wu was up he leaned in and kissed him. His lips were cool from a night's flight but his kiss was anything but. Wu always found himself taken aback by the passion the normally shy and mild Quan held in him, and now he melted as Quan bit his lower lip gently.</p>
<p>"I missed you very much," Quan whispered into his mouth.</p>
<p>"Me too," Wu replied gruffly, trying to cover that he felt... embarrassingly emotional. As though he would cry at any moment. That was silly. He had to get used to Quan going away for days and, as though reading his thoughts, the dragon smiled at him slightly sadly. "Thunder dragon said some nonsense about me not being able to take care of myself without you."</p>
<p>He shrugged jerkily, cheeks flushing when Quan's eyes widened.</p>
<p>"Is that so? Haha..."</p>
<p>"Don't laugh," Wu huffed.</p>
<p>But Quan kissed him and he melted again, hugging Quan tightly around his middle. His back smarted from being knocked back, but he was blissfully happy to have Quan in his arms. Happy and relieved.</p>
<p>He didn't like when Quan went away, but...</p>
<p>He did so love it when he came back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i've always wanted to give cao guanyu his own story but i've never been able to find a suitable one...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Six Swans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is based off the fairy tale by the same name... it contains incest, so feel free to give it a pass if it ain't your thing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there was a young boy.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He lived with his father and mother in a modest cabin in the forest.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>One dark, terrible day, there was an accident. In moments, his home caught up in flames. With their remaining strength, his parents saved him by pushing him out of the burning home but, to his horror, they were unable to save themselves.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Now orphaned, the boy knew not what to do. However, the King had been a friend of his parents. And he, who had six sons of his own, took him in, promising that he would look after him in his parent's stead. For years that boy lived happily, becoming fast friends with the King's youngest son. They would run through the woods together, finding fairy circles and escaping from the rest of their brothers—who had little idea how to play with their youngest siblings that didn't involve teasing them.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Tormenting, more like," the youngest son muttered as they hid from their brothers one day.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>All but the third youngest, who would sit and read while watching and waiting for his youngest brothers to come home. When they returned, they would sit at his feet, lean against him as he read stories aloud to them to relax them or lull them to a nap in the late afternoon sun.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sadly, one day the Queen became quite ill. She would pass away from this sickness but, mere years after her death, the King found another suitable woman he happily introduced to his sons. They welcomed her to their family, but she changed completely once she had married the King and become Queen.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Jealous of the former Queen and the King's lingering affection for her, the way he saw her in his sons, she cursed them all into swans. By some chance, she missed the youngest son but, upon seeing that he had escaped her spell, she laughed and told him:</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"If you want to bring your brothers back, let's see if you can silence that ever-chattering mouth of yours for seven years. Make a shirt made of nettles for each of your brothers within that time, and the spell will be broken."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The youngest son could speak none of the many curse words he knew at her, but swore at her furiously in his head. He accepted the terms with a nod, though he promised to himself he would have his revenge upon her once he broke the curse on his siblings.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>To his dismay, one day a different country's King happened upon him in his task of making shirts and was taken with him—why, the youngest prince had no idea—and asked him to marry him. The youngest son was unable to refuse but to shake his head but, without a proper reason, the King would not give up and was determined to have him for his own...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>What made matters worse was that the youngest son had never learned to read and write, so had no way of communicating with anyone, much less this King.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Here, our tale begins...</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>"Good gods, he does <em>not</em> know when to give up," said a man with vibrant red hair. He straightened up, standing ankle-deep in muddled pond water as he scowled toward the entrance of the garden and the retreating back of the foreign King. Along with him were five <em>other</em> naked men.</p>
<p>The one clothed person in the whole garden was Esque, who currently had his face buried in his hands, refusing to subject himself to the sight of his naked siblings and one naked not-as-much-of-a-sibling. Worse, they'd witnessed the King's newest courting attempts, which mostly just consisted of persistent question after question that Esque <em>couldn't answer</em>.</p>
<p>"It's because Esque is just so cute," laughed another man, with hair a muddy green-brown like the reeds in the pond. Tamther was his name, with the red-haired man's name being Herth. As for the others—</p>
<p>Blond: Malt, light brown: Wester, black: Pembrook and Ashlin, who's hair was as grey as ash. Hence his name. It wasn't a particularly favourable name in retrospect, when you looked at why and how he had lost his parents and home. He had been called 'Ash' or 'Cinders' by some of the people in the castle when he had first been adopted, the monikers whispered scathingly behind his back.</p>
<p>Esque had made short work of them, you're damned right he had. No-one would be messing with Ashlin as long as he was around!</p>
<p>"Esque. Esque, are you paying attention?" Wester drawled and Esque heard the slosh of his brothers stepping out of the pond that they lived in while they were swans (all day, except these excruciating fifteen minutes).</p>
<p>"Everyone, can you please put these on," Ashlin said anxiously, fishing out robes they had stowed away. Everyone but Ashlin always just lounged naked unless pressed into dressing. Every single one of his actual <em>blood siblings</em> were absolute shitheads, with Ashlin the only reason why Esque was doing what he was doing.</p>
<p>Everyone else sucked and could stay a swan, for all he cared.</p>
<p>Well, no, Pembrook was all right too.</p>
<p>Esque was terrifically unkind toward his brothers when, deep down in his black, angry little heart he loved them all. Kind of. More or less. He didn't want to see them squawking around as swans for the rest of their lives, at least.</p>
<p>"You would think you'd be used to this by now," Malt said as he shrugged on one of the robes pressed on him by Ashlin. The others complied too, sitting down on the warm garden grass; all save for Ashlin who went to Esque. He patted his shoulders gently to reassure him that his brothers weren't letting themselves flap in the breeze any longer.</p>
<p>Esque lifted his face and glared at them all, unable to say the thousands of words that he wanted to. <em>The last thing I want to do,</em> he thought scathingly, <em>is get used to seeing </em>you lot<em> naked. Just because I was raised with you all doesn't mean I want to burn my eyes out. Ugh. Assholes.</em></p>
<p>Alas, his witty (so he believed) repartee went unspoken, as many others had been.</p>
<p>How many years had it been now since he was forced to live in absolute silence? Six, he reminded himself, bolstering himself as best he could. He was so very, very close to the deadline. The pressure of it was beginning to bear down on him.</p>
<p>"Esque, how are the last shirts coming?" Pembrook asked in his soothingly deep, soft voice, looking up at where Esque sat on his bench. Esque shrugged helplessly, spreading his hands apart in answer. "Do you think that you'll finish them on time?"</p>
<p>Did he think that? Esque would have groaned, except even <em>that</em> wasn't allowed.</p>
<p>So he had to shrug again, half-nodding at the same time.</p>
<p>"You've got this," Ashlin said reassuringly, putting both of his hands on Esque's shoulders. He <em>melted</em>, fond of Ashlin more than any of the other shitheads sitting by his feet. His other brothers all looked at each other in that knowing way Esque hated (save Pembrook), and he blushed, flipping all of them off with both hands.</p>
<p>"If that king doesn't drag you off to marry him first," Herth said darkly, putting his chin down in the palm of his hand. "Next time, we'll swarm him. Make him make a fool of himself. See him come back from <em>that</em>."</p>
<p>"Oh, I like that plan. We can rip his clothes to shreds too and we'll get away with it," Tamther agreed, the quickest brother to jump on Herth's schemes. The more malicious the better, as it always was.</p>
<p>Esque flapped his hands angrily, trying to get their attention so they could see him fiercely <em>shaking his head</em>.</p>
<p>"But Esque," Wester droned, "if you get dragged off by that king... boom. That's it. There goes your free time to make those dumb shirts and we're birds forever."</p>
<p>"I don't want to be a bird forever," Malt added quickly. "Do you have any idea of what we have to <em>eat</em>, Esque? It's disgusting. I want to eat the palace food again! Ahh—dishes upon dishes of delicacies, soups and consommé, roast fowl—"</p>
<p>"Shut up, Malt, I'm never eating roast fowl again," Herth grumbled.</p>
<p>"I'd still eat it," Wester said helpfully.</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, some of us don't want to be <em>cannibals</em>."</p>
<p>Tamther snorted, leaning back on his hands. "We're humans and not swans, genius, we're not <em>cannibals</em>."</p>
<p>"It'd feel damn like being a cannibal. Are you okay with cannibals, Malt? Wester? Yeah? Want to eat me next, I suppose." Herth gesticulated with both of his hands, glowering.</p>
<p>"If you weren't so damn ugly, I'd consider it," Wester replied, grinning.</p>
<p>Esque rolled his eyes, wondering why they wasted their precious fifteen minutes of humanity bickering. One would think they would've gotten enough of that back in their youth.</p>
<p>Ashlin settled onto the bench next to him, turning his face to watch as Esque got back to threading together nettles on the most recent shirt. This one would be for Ashlin and then the last would be for tall, slender Pembrook. He felt an anxious tightening in his throat. If he failed, they'd be swans forever. He didn't want that. Especially not for Ashlin, who leaned his weight against Esque's side, supporting him as he worked.</p>
<p>Someone else settled on his other side and Esque glanced over at Pembrook, who nodded encouragingly at him before paying attention to the circus that was the rest of Esque's siblings.</p>
<p>"Time's almost up, fellas," Malt spoke up abruptly. "Any last words before we return to our feathery fates?"</p>
<p>"We'll be back to these ones tomorrow, no big deal," Wester said with a yawn.</p>
<p>"Don't eat roast fowl," Herth said fiercely to Esque, glaring at him. "You better have given it up. Imagine <em>me</em> roasting alive if you even think about trying it."</p>
<p>Esque rolled his eyes at him and Herth glared some more.</p>
<p>"Don't mind stepmother being a bitch," Tamther said cheerfully. "I chased her around the garden the other day. Think she about wanted to kill me."</p>
<p><em>Oh, nice,</em> Esque thought and gave him a thumbs-up.</p>
<p>"No wonder she wanted to curse us," Pembrook sighed and stood up. He said nothing more than that, stroking Esque's head of black hair, the same colour as his own. Then he walked toward the pond, classily untying the robe and pulling it off (though Esque still immediately covered his eyes up with his hands, refusing to stare at any butts, especially one of his brother's butts, though he did get a nice glimpse of Pembrook's sleek, muscular back).</p>
<p>"Good luck," Ashlin murmured in his ear. He pecked a kiss to Esque's cheek and joined the rest of the men as, with warbles and the sounds of wings flapping, they all assumed forms of swans. Amusingly enough, they were all different colours, which made it even more bemusing that Esque's father hadn't put together where his sons had gone.</p>
<p>Esque had even dragged him out here one afternoon when his father wondered where his brothers had gone. He had pointed vehemently at the swans in the pond and the king merely said: "Oh, thank you, Esque. Seeing such lovely swans does cheer me up a bit."</p>
<p>Herth about had a meltdown over that and had flown halfway out of the pond to attack his own father before Tamther and Malt dragged him back by the tail feathers.</p>
<p><em>Nothing can be easy, can it?</em> Esque thought as he leaned back on the bench and watched his brothers glide out into the pond, squawking amongst themselves.</p><hr/>
<p>"Fair Esque—I've come to invite you to my home. Will you not come with me?"</p>
<p>He was very gallant, honestly he was, King Averick. He even went down on one knee as he courteously extended one of his hands to Esque. He was handsome, too, but definitely not Esque's type. He didn't like the big buff type. So, while the king was nice and all, Esque would rather drown himself in the pond than go anywhere.</p>
<p>His stubbornness was annoying, too. Mmf.</p>
<p>Esque, sitting in plainclothes on the bench, about as casual as casual could be, quickly shook his head. Next to him, the pure black swan Pembrook also shook his head back and forth in an echo of his brother. Averick was hardly deterred, merely looking with interest at the swan and nodding as if to say <em>what a well-trained animal</em>.</p>
<p>"It's but a day trip. I promise you will enjoy yourself."</p>
<p><em>Take a fuckin' hint, guy!</em> Esque screamed in his head. If only King Averick knew the manner in which Esque spoke. His speech was littered with swear words so crass a sailor would flinch and Averick would undoubtedly be deterred in a second. He'd probably also be put off if he knew how very, very angry Esque was, especially with it having built up all of these years.</p>
<p>Pembrook honked in disapproval and the action was so abrupt, loud and funny Esque almost forgot himself and laughed. He slapped his hand to his throat, as if the physical contact would beat away the laugh. It worked, for the moment, and Pembrook looked up at Esque while clicking his beak together in apology.</p>
<p>Further out in the pond, a grey swan lifted his head with alarm, staring toward the shore and Esque.</p>
<p>"You may bring, erm—one of your pets, if you wish?" Averick suggested and then he stood, smiling, very dashing really. Esque tightened his grip on the shirt he was working on and looked at Pembrook who shook his head back and forth. "It's settled; let us depart at the moment! I have a carriage waiting out front!"</p>
<p><em>Hint! You! Take! It! Sic him, Pembrook!</em> Esque looked desperately at the swan, which just honked again.</p>
<p>So much bigger than him, Averick easily took the shirt from his hands—Esque nearly went into an apoplectic fit—and grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet. Esque contemplated kneeing him in the crotch or punching him in the throat but, unfortunately, diplomacy was a thing he had to think about. Once his brothers were back, it'd be no big deal if he went around swearing at every princeling, prince or king but, until he wasn't the heir assumptive, he had to watch himself.</p>
<p>It helped that he couldn't talk. He would've been in <em>way</em> more trouble.</p>
<p>The grey swan landed with an alarmed flutter on the shore, honking urgently at Pembrook, who honked back calmly.</p>
<p>To see Ashlin and Pembrook so concerned was sweet, but it was hilarious the way they waddled after Averick towing Esque forcefully along. He was torn so much between amusement and fury that he settled in an odd neutral zone, helpless to being manhandled into a carriage (Ashlin and Pembrook hustled inside before Averick could stop them) or voicing his protests. If he could write, <em>oh</em> the things he would write. He would write a detailed account on how, <em>no</em>, you didn't get your way just because you were a king, and <em>no</em>, a shake of the head from side to side did in fact equal refusal. It wasn't a <em>maybe</em> or a <em>hmm</em>, it was a <em>NO</em> and if you didn't take it as a <em>NO</em>, a nasty future of being bitten by swans awaited you.</p>
<p>Esque hunched down in his seat, glaring at Averick, who took his mutinous expression for something positive and smiled.</p>
<p>
  <em>It must be nice being so damn oblivious, huh? How the shit did you become king?</em>
</p>
<p>He was probably a nice person. He just needed someone to round on him and tell him off vigorously.</p>
<p>
  <em>When I can talk again...</em>
</p>
<p>Esque vowed darkly as he ran his hands over Ashlin and Pembrook's feathers.</p><hr/>
<p>Averick's mother was nothing like her son.</p>
<p>Meaning, she was an awful, horrible person that Esque decided should never meet his <em>own</em> stepmother because they would get along famously. She got one look at him and her face contorted like she had just placed some rotten roast fowl in her mouth (it was Herth's fault he had roast fowl on the brain) and she was in the middle of a fancy dinner where she <em>couldn't</em> just spit it out. Yeah. He felt like something unpalatable when she looked at him, all right.</p>
<p>But.</p>
<p>The one good thing about her was that she was loudly and vehemently against Averick marrying Esque.</p>
<p>Which was <em>great</em>. He too was <em>super on board</em> with that. He had even given the woman thumbs-ups when she was talking to her son about him and telling him about how awful a match Esque was and were those <em>swans</em>, why on earth had the ruffian brought <em>those</em>?</p>
<p>Ruffian, waste of space, whatever, he could live with it so long as she stopped the wedding!</p>
<p>Averick, meanwhile, had defended him fiercely from his mother and Esque wanted to beat him senseless.</p>
<p>Ashlin and Pembrook had attempted several times to nip at her heels but had stopped when they noticed how excited Esque was. Never before had he been so head-over-heels for someone who was complete and utter <em>evil</em> before. She could be his saviour! His guiding light! With her help he could escape Averick, but Averick was <em>so utterly oblivious</em> he didn't realise how encouraging Esque was being about the refusal.</p>
<p>And Mother Averick was just confused when her repeated nastiness only earned her Esque's sparkling eyes and encouraging nods.</p>
<p>In the end, she was so put off and doubting the boy's mental health that she said her bit and then swept off in more of a groan than a huff.</p>
<p><em>Failure,</em> Esque thought when Averick turned to him after his mother had said her part and apologised, letting him know it didn't change the way he felt about Esque.</p>
<p>Pembrook honked with deep displeasure and Ashlin clacked his beak, making motions like he was about to start biting at any moment. Esque patted them both in comfort while he wanted to just flip off Averick to his face but all he could do was sit back and stare at the sky, wishing vaguely he'd been turned into a swan too.</p><hr/>
<p>Herth laughed at him.</p>
<p>Esque wanted to punch him in the face or, better yet, feed him some of that roast fowl he had so come to loathe. He settled for flipping off Herth and then Tamther when he joined in the laughing. The only ones who <em>didn't</em> laugh were Pembrook and Ashlin—Esque almost wished Pembrook would laugh; he was scary when he wore a stormy, furious expression and said absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>Ashlin, as usual, was gentle and concerned, fussing over Esque by putting his hands on his shoulders. He squeezed Esque comfortingly, his very worry a balm to Esque's anger.</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry we couldn't do anything," he said anxiously.</p>
<p>Esque shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. <em>Not that you could've. I don't think even a swan bite would turn that oblivious king off of his notions of marrying me. Not that I </em>get why<em>.</em></p>
<p>He gestured at Ashlin, encouraging him to look, and then gestured first at his face and then at his body, hoping he looked <em>suitably incredulous</em>. Ashlin gave him a once over, reddened, and then shuffled his feet and looked away.</p>
<p><em>What. What was that,</em> he demanded mentally, but Ashlin had no way of hearing him.</p>
<p>"Are you asking why he's interested in you?" Ashlin asked after a moment, shyly. Pembrook turned his head sharply to look at the two of them. "Esque, you <em>are</em> fairly... um." He fumbled his words and Esque folded his arms over his chest impatiently.</p>
<p>
  <em>Say it. Compliment me.</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe it was for the best that no-one could hear Esque's thoughts.</p>
<p>"You're very... ah... um... attractive?" Ashlin ended in a whisper and Esque mentally thrust his hands into the air.</p>
<p>"What are you doing, idiot, put those down," Herth called over.</p>
<p>Oh. He had thrust his hands into the air in real life, too. Whoops.</p>
<p>Ashlin snorted, covering his mouth and nose up with his palm, though his smile was still visible. "You're the same as always, huh?" he asked Esque.</p>
<p><em>Of course. A compliment from you lights my world,</em> Esque passionately replied.</p>
<p>Or he would have, in his imagination.</p>
<p>"That mother of Averick's is going to be an issue," Pembrook cut in calmly, shattering Esque's imaginings to pieces. He ignored Esque's exasperated glance and came closer, standing next to Esque and tilting his head so they made eye contact. "She may seem as though she could be helpful, but I am certain she will do nothing but harm to you."</p>
<p><em>You worry too much.</em> Esque flapped his hand at him, but Pembrook seized it. His heart jolted up into his throat as his taller brother gripped his hand firmly, unyielding, his calm face twisted into that angry look from earlier.</p>
<p>"Hear me, Esque," Pembrook said softly, solemnly. "I need you to be careful. Do not go to that palace or anywhere near that woman again. If you must, you will bring <em>me</em>."</p>
<p>Pembrook never really got <em>angry</em>. He was the calm brother—despite being the third youngest, he was the most mature out of them all, by far. He was the tallest of them all in his youth and even now, despite leaning on the slender side. He was dedicated to academic pursuits rather than hunting or roughhousing like Herth or Tamther. When Pembrook said something, the rest of them shut up and listened because Pembrook <em>knew what he was talking about</em>. If you didn't listen, more fool you. They had all learned that lesson one by one as children.</p>
<p>So, if he was warning Esque so seriously, Esque damn well better take it just as seriously. That's what Pembrook's tone said, what his intent eye contact said.</p>
<p>Feeling shaky, certain he was paler than he had just been, he nodded.</p>
<p>Pembrook's severe expression softened and he pulled back, letting go of Esque's hand to stroke his hand over his hair. "We may all be cursed, but I'm still your older brother. I'll look out for you," he told him, so quiet none of the others could hear (Ashlin had also wisely moved away when it looked like Mt. Pembrook was about to erupt). He slid his hand from Esque's hair to his cheek and Esque had a feeling he was red the second that long, cool fingers touched his skin.</p>
<p>"Pembrooooook," Wester called. "You're doing <em>that thing</em> agaaaaain."</p>
<p>"Oh. My apologies, Esque," Pembrook said after a moment, pulling away. He'd returned effortlessly to being calm and unruffled, how did he do that?</p>
<p><em>Don't worry about it,</em> Esque did his best to gesticulate, which mostly involved half-panicked flailing and blushing.</p>
<p>"Always with the intense eye contact and the touching," Herth muttered, shaking his head. "No wonder no-one ever wanted to be your friend when we were kids when you got on with that. 'Sides us, anyway."</p>
<p>Pembrook calmly turned to look at him. His black eyes were narrowed.</p>
<p>At that moment, luckily for Herth and however long he had left to live, the curse took control again and a big red swan flapped quickly away, as far as possible. The others followed at a less terrified pace, leaving Pembrook and Ashlin on the shore still.</p>
<p>Ashlin honked and nuzzled against the side of Esque's leg, cuddling against him before he slid into the pond and swam away. Pembrook lingered, looking between the water and Esque before he hopped up onto the bench and sat there next to Esque.</p>
<p><em>You don't have to stay, brother,</em> Esque thought, shaking his head and jabbing his head at the pond.</p>
<p>Pembrook looked at him disapprovingly, so Esque shut down that thought, sat down and got back to making the shirt he'd been working on.</p><hr/>
<p>He would really have to make it up to Pembrook later.</p>
<p>Before he could do anything about it, he'd been seized from the gardens (he'd refused to give up the shirt he was working on, the very last one for Pembrook) and marched right into Averick's horse-drawn carriage. His brothers had given pursuit, honking in alarm as their baby brother was kidnapped, but they'd been unable to catch up in time. That left Esque staring desperately out of the window of the carriage for any sign of them. If it were his brothers, they wouldn't give up so easily.</p>
<p>If they did, he would've had a helluva lot easier time when he was a child.</p>
<p>Gritting his teeth, he looked down at the shirt in his grip and intently kept putting it together. Averick frowned across at him.</p>
<p>"Why do you do such a thing?"</p>
<p><em>Fuck off,</em> Esque thought.</p>
<p>"Though it is admirable you are so dedicated to your craft," Averick said, heedless of how much Esque hated it.</p>
<p>How much he had struggled in the beginning, how much he struggled even now. His fingers were worn where the nettles had initially scraped him open, and there was no medicine that would make the tiny nicks and scars disappear. They were ugly and he didn't like them, no matter if Pembrook had taken Esque's hands into his and stroked them soothingly with his thumbs. Averick had no idea how Esque wished he could get a night's sleep without waking up in terror that he had failed.</p>
<p>It was all too much responsibility to put on his shoulders. And, for what? Because one person was jealous of someone who had died? It was such a petty, insecure reason to put seven people through this suffering, the threat of six of those people never being able to turn back into humans again.</p>
<p>Esque couldn't stand his brothers a lot of the time, but he couldn't imagine living without them. He had been lost <em>already</em> for six years without them. Fifteen minutes wasn't enough time for Malt to criticise his eating habits and direct him to the better food. It wasn't enough time to concoct tricks, traps and practical jokes with Herth and Tamther. It wasn't enough time for him to lay on his back, doing nothing with Wester besides idly watching the clouds go by. It wasn't enough time to slip into the forest and explore with Ashlin like they had when they were children. It wasn't enough time for him to hear all of the things he wanted to hear from Pembrook. Pembrook hadn't enough time to brush his hair like he used to, or calmly teach Esque how to braid. Esque couldn't even show off to him how much he'd improved with braiding, how he was certain to be able to tie Pembrook's hair in a way that would make him smile.</p>
<p>He bit his lips to stifle the anger and frustration, pouring everything out into making the shirt instead.</p><hr/>
<p>He returned safely, at the very least, suffering through Averick's enthusiastic tour of his gardens and his palace.</p>
<p>But it wasn't to end with that day. Now that he had stolen Esque off once, Averick made a habit of it—apparently Esque's father had even approved. When his brothers had gotten wind of that, Pembrook, Herth and even lazy <em>Wester</em> were ready to storm the castle and wreck as much as they could.</p>
<p>Marriage felt inevitable.</p>
<p>Still, tirelessly, Esque worked. He pushed aside sleep, not bothering in favour of making the shirt. Pembrook, for Pembrook, he reminded himself when he got tired, when he felt like laying down and giving up. Pembrook didn't leave his side much these days, even his other brothers came to his room instead, hiding in his bathtub or just sitting with him on his bed as he frantically worked. He knew they worried, but none of them had the time. The seven year deadline was looming close.</p>
<p>He had marked off every day on sheets of parchment ever since this had all began. It was so close he could taste the fear in his mouth.</p>
<p>And then, one horrible day came—</p><hr/>
<p>"It's been stolen!" Averick's mother screamed. "That prince stole the last king's scepter!"</p>
<p><em>What the hell is she on about,</em> Esque thought and clenched both of his fists at his sides. Pembrook didn't manage to sneak aboard the carriage today and he was left feeling so very, frightfully alone in the face of the practically spitting woman before him. But, through her fury, he saw a light in her eyes so much like his stepmother that his lips curled into a sneer before he could think twice of it.</p>
<p>
  <em>You're a liar. Just another liar.</em>
</p>
<p>"Look at the way he looks at me!" she exclaimed, turning to the royal court gathered around them. Esque had been manhandled into the throne room and Averick was curiously absent—strange, considering that he was the king and all. Call him what you will, but Esque knew Averick would defend him.</p>
<p>How convenient, that he should be taken away at a time like this.</p>
<p>"Where have you hidden it, thief?" she demanded, descending the few steps from the throne to stand in front of him. His hands were held painfully tight behind his back, but his fingers determinedly held on to the shirt there. Pembrook's. He was so close that he thought today, today he could do it, that he could finish it while Averick did this or that (the rest were even in the satchel he wore, folded up carefully), but obviously he had let his guard down.</p>
<p>He had planned to finish and take them all post-haste to his brothers the moment he returned home. But... but he...</p>
<p><em>I'm sorry, Pembrook. I screwed up,</em> he thought as the gathered court shook their heads.</p>
<p>"He refuses to answer. He does not deny that he has stolen our kingdom's precious heirloom," said the woman imperiously, drawing herself up. She gestured with one hand. "Lock him away. Leave him with those <em>rags</em> he always works on, it will be a suitable distraction while we decide how we must deal with this."</p>
<p>Thrown in the dark, dingy dungeon, Esque completed the last shirt by the fading candlelight. Sans one sleeve, for when he reached for nettles he found none left.</p>
<p>He gripped it in his lap and stared up at the barred window, staring upward into the dark night as though to catch a glimpse of flapping wings.</p><hr/>
<p><em>This is kind of old-fashioned, don't you think?</em> Esque glared down underneath him.</p>
<p>At his feet was a mound of twigs, of wood, and all around in the city square, people were amassing to curiously watch the burning of the thief. Of the <em>witch</em>, for magicking the royal scepter somewhere where no-one could find it. Was some stupid heirloom really that important? Except it was, even his kingdom had something like it.</p>
<p>Still. They were going to start a war, these <em>fucking idiots!</em></p>
<p><em>Where are you guys?</em> Esque thought as he scanned the sky. He tried to joke with himself, tried to scoff at the situation, but the truth of it was that he was scared. He was alone here. Averick had been taken away—he'd been sent off to some battle and wouldn't return until the morrow, some folks whispered—and the kingdom left in the hands of his <em>mother</em>. There was no-one here on his side. This wasn't his <em>home</em>. His father likely thought his future husband was treating his youngest son well.</p>
<p>Maybe his stepmother was in on it. That might explain why no-one was here.</p>
<p><em>Pembrook,</em> he thought.</p>
<p>Averick's mother approached the pile, smiling as she accepted a torch from a nearby guard. Esque had stopped struggling against the ropes that pinned him to the stake, reassured only by the weight of the satchel still resting on his hip. He had finished them. More-or-less. He just needed his stupid brothers to get here.</p>
<p>Only believing they would know somehow and come was keeping him from breaking down.</p>
<p>"My noble subjects," she began, voice carrying. Esque's throat tightened. "We have gathered here today to judge this lying witch on his actions. He has bewitched the king, stolen the former king's scepter, and hidden it all—all while refusing to speak. What are these acts if not the acts of magic and sorcery?"</p>
<p>Well, it was true it was an act of magic, but more for how Esque was cursed along with his brothers.</p>
<p>The congregation gathered murmured assent and Esque shivered.</p>
<p>His eyes fixed on the flame dancing on the tip of the torch. He squirmed, feet pushing against wood and twigs and he wanted to <em>shout</em>, to scream out, but if he did that, it would all be over! Everything would be over, his brother's curse unbroken forever.</p>
<p>He couldn't do that to them to save himself.</p>
<p>Esque was the baby brother. Despite all of the teasing and tormenting, he was spoiled and pampered. Every single one of his brothers had given him everything. If they didn't care, they wouldn't have demanded he be there every day for the fifteen minutes they were human. If they didn't care, they wouldn't have stayed in his room with him, snuck into the castle to snuggle at his side or offer him comfort while he was desperately making the shirts to save them.</p>
<p>If they didn't care—</p>
<p>The woman was still speaking about something or another, but Esque's head jerked. He looked down. A golden swan was meticulously sawing away at the ropes with an open beak. <em>Malt!</em> he wanted to shout, hiccup, but he could make no noise. Malt looked up at him, meeting his gaze unflinchingly and nodding his head once.</p>
<p>On his other side—a muddy brown-green swan. Tamther. He vigorously sawed at the ropes while keeping himself more-or-less hidden. Just like they hid when they were playing tricks.</p>
<p><em>Tamther,</em> he wanted to cry, squirming. The swan nudged his leg comfortingly before getting back to it.</p>
<p>Then, honking and a shout drew his attention forward. Wester plunged from the air, raking at the uplifted torch with his hind feet. Herth skittered through the crowd, flapping his wings and taking a snap at the assembled people. Ashlin was right beside him, and Pembrook—where was Pembrook?</p>
<p>One of the guards drew his sword as the woman exclaimed, "His filthy pets! See, these witch's familiars—agh—"</p>
<p>Wester slapped a wing in her face with a furious, sharp sound more man than swan, and something black got in the way of the guard advancing on him. Pembrook flapped his wings in the guard's face and Esque sagged in relief.</p>
<p>The rope holding his left and right arms snapped off at once and Tamther and Malt would've gone on to the ones on his legs had something not covered them. Two prickly, uncomfortable shirts covered them, yanked from Esque's satchel, and they honked sharply. Before Esque could blink, his brothers all gathered around him, close enough he could drape their shirts over every one of them.</p>
<p>When he got to Pembrook he paused, looked at him wretchedly, and held up the completed shirt... missing just a sleeve.</p>
<p>The black swan just shook his head and pushed his body into it.</p>
<p>Then, just like when they changed back those fifteen minutes of the day, they were all there.</p>
<p>"Oh my god it's so ugly," Herth exclaimed, gripping the shirt with both hands and pulling it to get a look at it. It barely covered his nudity and Esque thought he really should've made them longer after all. "What—<em>ow</em>—and it's so uncomfortable!"</p>
<p>"What did you expect!" Esque said scathingly. "It's made out of <em>nettles</em>, you <em>idiot</em>!"</p>
<p>Herth looked at him, grinned, and grabbed him as best he could in a hug. And finally—<em>finally</em>—Esque sobbed, slamming his fists against his eldest brother's shoulders.</p>
<p>"You were <em>late</em>," he snarled, as Herth shushed him and gently hugged his head against his chest. The nettle shirt rubbed uncomfortably against his cheek, itched it, and he couldn't hear anything but for his own gasping and his sobs.</p>
<p>He didn't hear the clamouring of the people as the missing princes from the neighbouring kingdom were there—or the more awed gasps from certain ladies and men as they realised all these princes were sans pants. Averick's mother was left agape, but no more so when the pounding of hooves heralded her son himself, the king, returned early from the battle.</p>
<p>"What on earth," Averick started, staring wide-eyed at the men atop an unlit pyre and Esque crying into his brother, his legs still bound to a stake.</p>
<p>"What a mess," Wester said with a grumble, scratching his head. He took a moment to rub Esque's head affectionately before skidding his way down the pile. "Someone, can you get six pairs of pants. Thanks a bunch. And <em>you</em>—" He languidly pointed at Averick. "We've got a bone to pick with you, king."</p>
<p>"And let's not forget your mother," Malt added, seizing the woman's arm as she made to make her escape. She struggled, but the blond man merely smiled coldly, his manner and his gaze unforgiving. "Tamther, can you send word to home? I'd like to have a word with father and our <em>lovely</em> stepmother as well, since we're at it."</p>
<p>Tamther saluted. "Strategy: divide and conquer! I'm on it." Though he did accept a pair of pants brought to him by a blushing village woman first—he winked at her as he donned them and hustled away.</p>
<p>"You know that I'm first in line to the throne, right? Why're you all giving orders without me?" Herth complained, running his hand over a still-sniffling Esque's head.</p>
<p>"You're kind of occupied," Malt replied dryly. "Maybe not in a second, though."</p>
<p>"Huh?" Herth blinked—and then Esque was pulled unceremoniously from his arms. He looked down at himself, frowning at the loss of his baby brother, and then across at Pembrook, all-but smothering Esque into him.</p>
<p>"Thank goodness we were on time," Ashlin muttered, creeping out from behind the stake once he had a set of pants. Herth stepped into a pair and scratched his head, looking at Pembrook—or, rather, his arm.</p>
<p>"Are you okay?" Pembrook asked quietly, putting his chin on top of Esque's head. Esque nodded, his eyes tightly shut, his throat tight. "You can talk again, Esque."</p>
<p>"I'm okay," he croaked. It had been so long since he had last used his voice that it didn't feel like his own. "But you... I'm so sorry, Pem."</p>
<p>"It's all right. It's just an arm." Pembrook calmly looked down at it. He had wrapped an arm around Esque's waist and another around his shoulders. The one around his shoulders was feathered right down to his elbow, from where stretched a black and rough-skinned forearm. Every one of his fingers ended with a sharp nail, and in-between his fingers stretched black webbing. It was a startling sight on a human man, but Pembrook merely held fast. "So long as you don't revile me for it, I see no issue."</p>
<p>Esque sniffled, shaking his head. <em>There's no way I could ever,</em> he thought, too used to responding with silence he didn't remember that he could reply properly.</p><hr/>
<p>"Well, that's done," Herth declared as he dusted off his hands with neat claps.</p>
<p>Their stepmother had been confined in a dungeon, a magician called in order to enchant the bars so that she couldn't attempt an escape. Their father had been aghast, but no-one had been more aghast than Averick. Not just because his mother had tried to kill his affianced, but because his affianced was against the whole engagement thing to begin with.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," Esque had said, right to his face, "but I'm seriously not interested in you one bit. I've got someone else in mind to marry. I wouldn't mind being friends, but there's no way in the ten hells am I marrying you. No offense."</p>
<p>He'd paused and added, against Ashlin's gestures of <em>no, don't</em>. "I'd say it's not you, it's me, but it's totally you too. You better get your wits about you, 'cause if you pull what you pulled with me with anyone else, you'd get a proper beating. If you hear 'no', it means <em>fucking 'no'</em>. Don't matter if it's someone <em>shaking their head</em> or someone <em>yelling in your face</em>, pay the hell attention next time around."</p>
<p>"He's really pent up from everything that happened," Ashlin had to apologise to the white-faced Averick afterwards.</p>
<p>Tamther just nodded fondly, as if to say <em>that's our Esque</em>.</p>
<p>Out of all of the siblings, Esque was undoubtedly the worst one of all.</p>
<p>Now, they had all gathered by the pond, out of some strange sense of <em>home</em> there.</p>
<p>"Don't swim," Malt said, glancing at Herth, who coloured up pink.</p>
<p>"Shut up. I'll make <em>you</em> swim," he swore, brandishing a fist.</p>
<p>Esque was out of breath, feeling as though he was in a dream somehow. He had dreamed he finished the shirts and broken the curse and now he could talk. He touched his throat tentatively and looked around at his brothers, dying to say so many things that he—oh, right.</p>
<p>He turned to Ashlin, extending one of his hands to him. His childhood friend blinked, tilting his head curiously.</p>
<p>"What's the matter, Esque?" he asked kindly, taking the proffered hand.</p>
<p>When Esque dropped to one knee, <em>then</em> he started to panic.</p>
<p>"Ashlin, won't you marry me?" he proposed, his words layered with the dramatic flair he had a penchant for at times he thought appropriate.</p>
<p>"Oh." Ashlin's attention diverted from him and he stared uncomfortably at the rest of their brothers, who just stared back. Aside from Pembrook, who had folded his arms, and was tapping the claws of his monstrous hand against the bicep of the opposite arm impatiently. "Um. Actually. Sorry, Esque, I don't like you that way."</p>
<p>"What," Esque said flatly, narrowing his eyes.</p>
<p>"I'm really more into, um. A different type of person, I guess?" Ashlin said vaguely, shuffling his feet. "You're great and I do love you—but as a brother."</p>
<p>"What," Esque repeated, but despondently.</p>
<p>"I do love you and I'm really flattered," Ashlin stammered, looking again to the brothers for help. Herth shrugged, Tamther grinned, Wester yawned, Malt put his palm against his forehead and Pembrook finally looked at Ashlin's face. Ashlin gave him as urgent a look as he could muster, indicating frantically toward Esque with small jerks of his head. "But, um. Sorry. I'll be happy if we can stay close to each other, though!"</p>
<p>Esque let go of his hand and slumped on the ground. But, as any of the brothers could tell you, he wasn't near as despondent as he made himself out to be. Pembrook walked over to him (shooting a sharp look at everyone else, who wisely began to back away and didn't get any funny comments ready) and lowered to kneel in front of Esque.</p>
<p>Esque was chewing his lower lip, very nearly on the border of tears but, when Pembrook filled his line of sight, he looked at him sulkily.</p>
<p>"I suppose you'll turn me down now too if I say anything," he bit out.</p>
<p>Pembrook moved to take both of Esque's hands in his own, one human and one not, calmly pulling them close to his chest. "No. Assuredly not," he replied, and his calm voice was gentle, his features softening into a smile that would've made Esque damn near weak at the knees if he'd been standing. "It would be my pleasure to have you all to myself."</p>
<p>"Okay," Esque mumbled, pitching forward to bury his face in Pembrook's chest. "Good."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Six Swans: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>second verse same as the first, this story contains incest!! u can skip on past it if it ain't your thing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Done!"</p><p>Esque triumphantly leaned backward, holding up his hands.</p><p>Pembrook sat before him, between his legs on the floor with his back toward Esque. In-between them was his sheet of long, dark hair... though it didn't seem so long when it had been meticulously braided. Esque had been working on it for the better part of a half hour, determined to get it <em>perfect</em>.</p><p>Pembrook cocked his head to look over one shoulder which, of course, wouldn't let him see the braid. "Hm. A mirror, Esque?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah. Right, you stay right there."</p><p>Proud of himself, Esque pranced to his feet and over to his vanity.</p><p>He had managed to keep Pembrook all to himself this morning. They were so busy these days that it was a battle to find free time. Esque would've thought once <em>all of his brothers</em> had returned, things would've been peaceful and less off of his shoulders, but not quite. They all tended to work better as a unit, each of them occupying their own space. Esque had to be there to catch up everyone on what they had missed. <em>Who</em> they had missed, the royalty and nobles and otherwise that came through the castle.</p><p>It'd been a steady stream of balls and parties, too, to celebrate the return of the 'lost' princes.</p><p>("Hah," Esque scoffed, sometimes not out of earshot, "more like an excuse for all of those wastes of space to <em>schmooze</em> and <em>suck up</em>.")</p><p>All Esque wanted to do was bask in his newfound romance (or not so newfound, considering how he had acted toward Pembrook for <em>years</em> and had simply never <em>thought about</em>) and do things like... like couples did! He had so much catching up to do with him and his other brothers that he didn't want to waste time on other people.</p><p>Thus, today.</p><p>They <em>finally</em> had time alone, which meant Esque could <em>finally</em>—</p><p>—show off the braiding he had practiced.</p><p>That was romantic, right?</p><p>Lovers did each other's hair, right?</p><p>Right.</p><p>Esque bounced back to Pembrook, who looked up at him expectantly. He shifted the mirror behind him, until Pembrook grunted that he could see.</p><p>"You did well, Esque," he said simply, warmly, and held their eye contact. Esque felt his cheeks starting to warm up and he sucked in a deep breath as Pembrook turned around to face him. His hand, the black-skinned and scaled one, reached up to touch Esque's cheek gently before cupping and then—</p><p>"Hey, guys, you've got to come and see what me and Tamther rigged up," Herth yelled as he slammed open Esque's door without so much as a by-your-leave.</p><p>He took one glance at Pembrook and Esque frozen in place and paused. Furrowed his eyebrows.</p><p>And, in about the span of two seconds, Pembrook was in his face and <em>shoving</em> him straight back out into the hall. He <em>slammed</em> the door shut, pulling it to and decisively <em>turning the lock</em>. His face was expressionless, in one of those scary <em>Pembrook is silently furious</em> ways but he had found his soft smile when he turned back to Esque.</p><p>At least until Herth said, from outside, "Okay, got it! No more disturbing the lovebirds for the day! Get it. 'Cause we were swans—all right, I'm going, I can honestly feel you trying to melt me into dust from here, Pembrook."</p><p>The sound of shuffling feet. Then stomp, stomp, stomp down the hallway.</p><p>"Now," Pembrook said with a sigh and he leaned his head to one side. His fingers raised to his collar and coolly pulled his tie loose, followed by popping the top buttons of his shirt. "I believe we were interrupted. Esque, would you sit on the bed?"</p><p>Esque was <em>already</em> there, stammering something like <em>yes</em> as he realised that wow, while he had planned out simple, cutesy romantic things for him and Pembrook to spend their day doing... Pembrook clearly had come up with a few ideas of his own, and no human or swan or anything out there should be able to look like Pembrook did as he shrugged off his outer jacket as well and approached Esque.</p><p>"Now my hair will not get in the way, either," Pembrook said with one of his gentle, reserved smiles.</p><p>"Ri-right!" Esque squeaked, giddy and nervous as he stretched up his hands to meet Pembrook halfway.</p><p>And, all the way on the other side of the castle, Herth vehemently told their brothers <em>let's not bug Esque and Pembrook today, Pem might murder us all for real this time</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Tale of Yamata no Orochi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is one story i have a particular soft spot for... probably bc i love japanese myths and stories the most</p><p>also rikimaru is funny, if i do say so myself</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, in a faraway land, the storm god Susanoo fell to earth from heaven. He happened to come upon an old couple, who were weeping. They had lost seven of their eight daughters to the fearsome serpent Yamata no Orochi.</em>
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  <em>With eight tails and eight heads, it had gobbled up each of their daughters save for the one, Kushinada-hime.</em>
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  <em>Susanoo said he would fell the dreaded beast and so he did. He turned Kushinada-hime into a comb, hiding her in his hair, and had the old couple fill up eight vats full of sake for the beast. When Yamata no Orochi came, lured by the sake, all of his heads partook of the alcohol and he soon passed out into a drunken stupor.</em>
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  <em>It was then that Susanoo leapt and chopped the monster up into little pieces.</em>
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  <em>The day was saved, the fell beast eliminated, save for that one of its pieces caught in the river, washing down it, and others joined it. It was nothing so strong as to give the monster back its strength, but it was enough for Yamata no Orochi to gather some of its parts to itself, determined to eat and sup upon a fair maiden once more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is here our tale begins...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"This is one big snake," Rikimaru said thoughtfully as he grasped the wriggling serpent by its tails. He pulled it from the Hi River that flowed smoothly near to where he and his father worked and tended several large rice paddies. The serpent lashed in his grip, making infuriated noises, and Rikimaru turned it so that he could look at its head and see what a serpent with split tails looked like at the other end.</p><p>"Whoa, gross," he exclaimed, leaning back. The serpent's head parted cleanly at the base, splitting into two necks, upon which perched two separate snake's heads. Both of the mouths were open, tongues lashing angrily at the air.</p><p>"You dare call the fearsome Yamata no Orochi 'gross'?" squeaked the serpent.</p><p>Rikimaru hastily dropped it into the mud, stood up and hopped back, wiping his palms off on the front of his clothing as though he was going to catch something.</p><p><em>Talking snakes,</em> he thought. <em>Dad was right that I've been helping myself to a bit too much of the sake.</em></p><p>"Peasant!" shrieked the serpent in a high, tinny voice. It spoke at once from its two heads, creating a curious echo effect when it spoke. It clumsily flopped itself from the mud closer to Rikimaru, who said <em>eeeeeeeeh</em> in disgust and slid his sandaled feet out of touching range. "Your fear of the great Yamata no Orochi is understandable, but this day I am choosing you as my servant! You will take me and tend to me until I have gathered back my strength and, in thanks, I will spare you in the future!"</p><p>"What? Nah. Dad'll be mad if I bring something back to the house," Rikimaru replied.</p><p>The snake, thrown by the casual refusal, pulled up short and glared up at Rikimaru contemptuously with two sets of eyes. "This is not a request!" it peeped furiously.</p><p>"Sorry, but I can't help you, little guy. See you later." Rikimaru went to where he had placed his buckets by the river to fill with water and hefted them into his hands. He walked back toward his and his father's modest home, certain he was free now of talking snakes... except he heard a wet plop from behind him and slowed, glancing back over his shoulder. The serpent was following him clumsily, body undulating awkwardly as it tried to move, obviously unaccustomed to its own form.</p><p>Rikimaru turned his face forward, determined to ignore it (because he was a peasant and peasants enjoyed when things were the same and consistent, thanks) until it got the hint.</p><p>Which, as it turned out, it <em>didn't</em>.</p><p>"Ah, gross," Jinnosuke, his father, exclaimed when he looked up to find Rikimaru had returned—but not without the strange little snake in tow. It was out of breath and, even now, it panted as it laid itself just outside of their entranceway to regain its strength.</p><p>"Maybe I won't spare either of you," the snake muttered to itself, "I'll just leave you both 'til last."</p><p>"And it talks." Jinnosuke shook his head. "Rikimaru, you've found some hapless yokai and brought it back home? What have I said about doing such things?"</p><p>Rikimaru shrugged, placing the buckets on the floor before raking his hand through his red hair. "Didn't do it on purpose. I just picked it up to look at it and then it started talking," he said, planting himself into a cross-legged position on the floor and taking up the work that his father had just left in order to investigate the odd animal.</p><p>"I am no... no mere yokai," the snake spluttered as it caught its breath and lurched inside. "I am the great and fearsome Yamata no Orochi! I have laid wastes to places far larger than this, my strength is unrivaled—"</p><p>Jinnosuke began to laugh, fetching a bowl of water for the tired creature. "What a funny thing you are," he said with amusement. Rikimaru looked over at his father with a frown before going back to his work. "Yamata no Orochi has been slain just several days hence. Indeed, even now the villages are celebrating and honouring the great Susanoo for freeing them. Why, even <em>we're</em> preparing things to bring to the village for the celebration."</p><p>The snake puffed up, its cheeks full of water, and gulped angrily before it spat: "Great hero! Pah! Simply an outcast from the heavens and a <em>trickster</em>. Unable to defeat Yamata no Orochi, he had to render him unconscious and kill him when he could no longer fight back!"</p><p>"Now," Jinnosuke said sternly, his good humour fading, "watch yourself, good yokai. People more dedicated to him than us exist, and they would surely drive you out by hearing such a thing."</p><p>"I am Yamata no Orochi—" but Jinnosuke cut off the exclamation with a chuckle.</p><p>"It is good to have dreams of grandeur, but I would hope you would become better than a monster. Here, we'll fetch you some food and arrange you a little cushion upon which you may sleep. You don't seem terribly dangerous, though you <em>do</em> look ghastly. My apologies."</p><p>The snake said nothing, glowering as best it could.</p><p>When Jinnosuke had slipped from the house to tend to the paddies, the snake heaved itself up to where Rikimaru was weaving a basket. In several days, he would carry sake and other things to the village where the celebrations were taking place, for they were quickly running out of food and drink for the blissful village people.</p><p>Looking up at the young man, the snake said, "I am Yamata no Orochi and you, Rikimaru, will be my servant."</p><p>Rikimaru looked down at it and then leaned to the side, taking a piece of fish off of a plate. He offered it to the snake without response and, before it could control itself, the snake eagerly snapped up the morsel and devoured it in hungry gulps. "I won't be your servant, but I can help look out for you until you can look out for yourself, Orochi," he replied in a drawl, fetching another piece of fish.</p><p>Yamata no Orochi looked at him skeptically, biting the fish from his fingers with one head while the other spoke, "You believe me. Wise of you, human, but why?"</p><p>Rikimaru shrugged his shoulders, picking up a piece of fish and dropping it into his own mouth to chew. "Just a feeling."</p><p>Though Orochi thought the answer unsatisfactory, it was all he was getting. He reluctantly gave up and ate piece by piece of food from Rikimaru's fingers before curling up next to the fire to sleep.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
From just a few days and nights, Yamata no Orochi found out more about his new servant—Rikimaru. Rikimaru was tall, muscular, and good thing too, for he had most of the physical labour to do in the rice paddies with his father aging and not as spry as he used to be. He did everything without complaint, and never broke the calmly focused look on his face. He had a severe face in general, so much so that Orochi thought he had no right in mentioning how gross Orochi looked. His eyebrows were constantly slanted down over his sharp, hawk-like eyes.</p><p>He was meticulous and strong, and Orochi imagined him at the head of his evil army once he had regained his power.</p><p>"I'll pass," Rikimaru told him to his face. The snake hissed in dismay and persisted, until Rikimaru stuffed fish into his mouth to shut him up.</p><p>Around midday, Rikimaru filled the wicker basket he had made with food and jars of sake that the two men brewed in small batches at their home with rice leftover from the harvest. Orochi watched him with his head tilted to one side, and yelped in protest when Rikimaru unceremoniously hoisted him up and put him into the basket too.</p><p>"How dare," the snake began indignantly as Rikimaru put the cover to the basket over his head.</p><p>"Don't talk when we get to the village," Rikimaru told him as he hoisted the basket onto his back. Bidding farewell to his father, he headed out the door of his home and onto the well-worn dirt road that would lead to the village. For days and nights now, there had been fireworks that even Rikimaru was able to see. He had also been privy to watching Orochi curl up sullenly whenever the fireworks started, stubbornly ignoring that his death was being so celebrated by everyone.</p><p>"Why must I come? I've no desire to go to that village," Orochi grouched from inside the basket. He wormed one of his heads out from under the lid, looking petulantly at the landscape as they walked.</p><p>"Fresh air's good for you. I'll get you a mikan when we get there, too," Rikimaru said.</p><p>"<em>I don't want a mikan</em>," Orochi growled.</p><p>But Rikimaru gave him such an incredulous look, as if stunned <em>anyone</em> would turn down such a delicious fruit, that Orochi snapped his mouth shut and pulled his head back in the basket. He curled up against one of the jars there, smelling the sake but unable to remove the cork and sneak a few sips from it like he wanted. Even though his love of sake had led to this predicament, it wasn't the beverage's fault. No, alcohol was blameless!</p><p>In that case, hold on...</p><p>Did he have himself to blame for his predicament, then? No, that was stupid! He was a powerful creature who got tricked, it wasn't his fault!</p><p>"You asleep in there, Orochi?"</p><p>"As though I could sleep with this infernal basket's rocking."</p><p>"Then come out. You might as well talk to me if you're awake."</p><p>Orochi glared at the walls of the basket, and reluctantly squirmed free of it. Rikimaru moved one of his arms so that Orochi could coil along his arm, wrapping some of his tail and body around his forearm to stay upright. The day was clear and fair, full of sunlight rather than the storm clouds Orochi always beckoned when he had controlled this region. He looked around petulantly.</p><p>The road was curiously free of travellers—thanks to the celebration in the villages, Rikimaru told him.</p><p>"I don't understand it," he said after a while. Rikimaru grunted to tell him he was listening. "All I asked for was a mere sacrifice. Even the gods ask for sacrifices, so why not a being as powerful as I? They celebrate that I no longer rule here but I did not cause them such strife." He flicked out his tongues angrily into the air, fearing Rikimaru's response the moment he said it.</p><p>But Rikimaru just stayed quiet, looking forward in thought.</p><p>"It is only <em>one</em> person a year, too," Orochi persisted. "Snakes and rats and birds all lose their young all the time, and do they make such an affair out of it? No. They procreate and bring more young into the world."</p><p>"That's surprisingly rational of you," Rikimaru said. "But you're trying to make sense of people, Orochi."</p><p>"And? So what of it?"</p><p>"People don't <em>make</em> sense," Rikimaru said frankly. "We don't go comparing ourselves to animals. 'S far as people're concerned, we're better. We're more important than them. And I imagine people probably said 'well, why didn't he ask for sacrifices of meat instead'?"</p><p>"Meat doesn't sustain," Orochi scoffed. "If I did not eat a human, I would die. Humans are a special food; they provide energy such that a <em>cow</em> wouldn't give. If I could spare myself from eating them, I would. However, out of all of the humans, the least unappetizing ones were those young women..." He flicked his tongue over his mouth in memory.</p><p>"Gross." Rikimaru's tone was flat but, to Orochi's surprise, he hadn't shrugged him off or shoved him back into the basket. He kept speaking with him. "See, people aren't gonna think like that. Anyway, you weren't all innocent like you're making yourself out to be. I'm sure you terrorized the villages, didn't you?"</p><p>The snake turned his heads to one side, avoiding Rikimaru's knowing look. "So what if I wandered in my spare moments?" he muttered.</p><p>"If it was just 'wandering', it'd be fine. Tricky snake."</p><p>"I don't know that I want a servant like you after all," Orochi said. "You're far too cheeky." So he said, but his thoughts and feelings were the exact opposite.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
The village was brimming with activity. They welcomed Rikimaru as soon as he stepped through the gates, cheered to see fresh alcohol and food brought to sustain the celebrations. He turned down invitation after invitation with a brief, though polite, shake of his head, a claim he had to return to his father before the night fell.</p><p>Orochi curled up at the very bottom of the basket and listened.</p><p>Everyone sounded so very, very happy. There was laughter, cheering at nothing, save perhaps a stupid drinking contest or something. The air was thick with the smells of food, sake and <em>people</em> who had spent their morning and nights enjoying the fact that they were alive. Enjoying that they had outwitted the fearsome beast who was now reduced to a diminished form, hiding away at the bottom of a basket.</p><p>The light outside of the basket began to dim after a while and, tentatively, he peeked out. Rikimaru had entered a grove of trees that bordered the village and Orochi grunted as he was jostled, the basket placed on the forest floor.</p><p>"Here. Dinner, let's eat," Rikimaru said as he sat cross-legged before the basket, flipping off the top.</p><p>"This is unwise," Orochi muttered. He felt very vulnerable and he hated it as he slithered from the basket and made a beeline straight into Rikimaru's lap. Curling up on his thighs, he felt safe at the warmth he could feel even through Rikimaru's clothing. Orochi scanned the surrounding trees, tongues flickering in and out of his mouths, and flinched when there was movement—which was merely Rikimaru himself.</p><p>"Relax," he said. "No-one's coming." He pulled something from his pocket and set to peeling it. It smelled of citrus, sweet but sour and, when it had all been peeled, Rikimaru offered him a slice. "Here, mikan."</p><p>"I said I didn't want any." But Orochi ate the offered piece. "You needn't feed me. I am no longer a helpless worm who cannot do anything but flop about!"</p><p>Rikimaru blinked, another piece of the fruit already poised between his fingers. "Guess that's true." But, he brought the slice close to Orochi anyway, despite the snake's flat glare. "But this is fun. Like feeding a baby animal."</p><p>"You—"</p><p>"Besides," Rikimaru continued. "You always eat it. You never doubt for a second that the food that I feed you is fine."</p><p>Orochi froze with the piece of fruit tangy and tart on his tongue, his throat suddenly tight.</p><p>Noticing, Rikimaru blinked, frowned, and then purposefully put a piece of the mikan in his mouth, chewing. "I'd never poison you," he said, "I just thought how trusting you are is nice. You even talked to me when you didn't know if I'd just stomp you to death." He ate another piece and Orochi finally swallowed the one in his mouth.</p><p>"I am not <em>trusting</em>." Even though he tried to prevent it, a note of bitterness crept into Orochi's voice.</p><p>"Sure you are." Rikimaru's easy rebuttal made Orochi glare, even when the last slice of fruit was shoved in his mouth. "The reason you're so angry at all this is 'cause you trusted that no-one would rise against you, right? You wouldn't be half so indignant if you actually thought you were doing anything wrong."</p><p>Orochi said nothing.</p><p>"You believed you were right and trusted that no-one would fight against you. You were acting the way a monster was supposed to. That's why you didn't think twice about the sake either." Rikimaru looked down at him... and a crooked smile tilted his lips, a smile that Orochi had never seen on him before. "It's a waste, I think. You could be a lot better than you were now that you know different."</p><p>For a moment, the snake felt as though he were burning up. Energy rushed through him, adrenaline, and his body writhed in Rikimaru's lap as he tried to curl himself up into a tight ball, hiding his heads from view. "Be silent," he snarled, voice muffled, "You're a servant, you don't need to have opinions!"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah. But, this is a good chance, wouldn't you say?"</p><p>Rikimaru's hand fell on his body and Orochi jolted in surprise. Never in his life had another being touched him gently, out of affection or otherwise.</p><p>"It's like you've been blessed with another chance at life. Might as well try things differently this time around. I like you like this, but I don't think I would've liked you before." Rikimaru thoughtfully stroked his fingers along one of Orochi's heads, fondling him as you would a cat with which you were familiar.</p><p>"I hate this feeble form."</p><p>"Well, we can fix that one, hopefully. Don't think the original you would fit in my house, so you'll have to stay tinier," Rikimaru told him, his tone easy and companionable.</p><p>"Hmph."<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
What was that supposed to mean, anyway? <em>Try things differently?</em> Just because he was in a smaller form didn't mean that his innate nature would suddenly <em>change</em>. Rikimaru may as well have asked him to be <em>human</em>—</p><p>Wait a second.</p><p>While they traveled back to Rikimaru's house, Orochi struck upon a genius idea.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
"Welcome back, Rikimaru, Yama," Jinnosuke welcomed them heartily when they returned (Orochi had refused to give his 'real' name, so Jinnosuke gave him a nickname instead). They got an even <em>heartier</em> welcome when Jinnosuke saw what they had brought back with them—cakes, fruits and other foods from the village that the villagers were happy to heap upon them in thanks for the rice, sake and other foodstuffs that they sent.</p><p>That night, they would feast! ...so Jinnosuke said.</p><p>"Serve me a cup," Orochi demanded, staring greedily at a small jar of sake, the last one they had.</p><p>Rikimaru looked at him with his eyebrow raised.</p><p>"Do you think I am incapable of enjoying sake?" Orochi sniffed, turning up his snouts. "Serve me some. I will partake, and it is inhospitable to leave your guest out."</p><p>"Are you a guest anymore, Yama?" Jinnosuke asked, laughing. "You've made yourself quite at home."</p><p>Orochi just flicked out his tongue in agitation and glowered, but settled when a cup was set before him. He bowed over it, greedily sucking up the alcohol and puffing out a sound of contentment. It was nothing like the powerful sake that was his undoing, and all the better for it. It was fresh, delicious and reminded him of Rikimaru and Jinnosuke, made him think of them meticulously preparing it.</p><p>"Strangely nostalgic," he whispered to himself, flicking his tongue across his lips.</p><p>Rikimaru looked at him curiously but just sipped from his cup, held in the circle of his fingers.</p><p>"Ah, we hear that one a lot," Jinnosuke jumped on it with a proud grin. The grizzled older man leant his body forward, elbow propped on his knee. "My father and his father before him made sake. We've only ever made a little to sell or to trade, but most people who taste it ask us if they've drank it before somewhere else."</p><p>"I think maybe we're just unoriginal," Rikimaru said with a smile.</p><p>"Bah! You'll have your ancestors rolling in their graves if you say those things," Jinnosuke warned, brandishing a finger at him. "Our ancestors strived for a taste that would make people think of <em>home</em>."</p><p>Orochi was very quiet indeed while Rikimaru and Jinnosuke playfully bantered.</p><p>Looking down into his empty sake cup, he wondered <em>where</em> his home was now. Rikimaru implied that he could stay, and Jinnosuke didn't seem offended at his presence, so then—was this to be his home? But if he returned to his former glory and went about things how he did, he wouldn't stay here any longer.</p><p>He recalled the idea he struck upon earlier and tensed his body, narrowing both sets of his eyes.</p><p>He was Yamata no Orochi. He did not simply <em>worry</em>. He found what he wanted and he took it. And what he wanted—</p><p>He wanted—<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
"Dad. Have you seen Orochi?"</p><p>"You're still calling him that? My son invites bad luck upon us," Jinnosuke groaned, rolling in his futon and looking blearily up at Rikimaru. He sobered when he realised that Rikimaru wore an uncharacteristically solemn, worried expression and pushed himself up. When he scanned their modest abode, he saw no snake curled up on the cushion that had become his bed in the few weeks it had been since the strange creature had come to live with them.</p><p>"I think he might've slipped out last night and not come back," Rikimaru said anxiously.</p><p>Jinnosuke stood slowly, wearily rotating his shoulders and frowning. "Perhaps it was time for him to move on?" he said, though he doubted it.</p><p>He wanted to reason and say that the snake would surely go on his way eventually, but he had noticed that the beast was strangely, curiously lingering. Especially when it came to how much time he spent with Rikimaru. He had woken up several times to the two of them talking late into the night.</p><p>They talked about things he couldn't be bothered to listen to, but they spent all of their time together. When Rikimaru went out for his chores, he took the snake with him on his shoulder, or hid him under the shade of his hat when he had to work the paddies in the hot sun.</p><p>It <em>did</em> feel strange that the snake would leave without a word.</p><p>"I'll look through the paddies for Yama," Jinnosuke said, rubbing his hand over his greying hair. "You check out the forest and the road."</p><p>"...Thanks." Rikimaru's tight expression eased slightly and then he hurried, bolting from the house.</p><p>Jinnosuke shook his head with a troubled smile and headed out into the paddies.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
The forest near their home was wild. Not very large, it was nevertheless a struggle to push his way through the branches and the bushes. However, Rikimaru did it without hesitating, his mind on the snake being attacked or worse. He knew not if Orochi even had poison in him, was able to fight another creature, though he had claimed some of his power had come back lately.</p><p>"Orochi!" he shouted, unthinking in his haste.</p><p>Soon, a slick and smooth voice answered him:</p><p>"Ahh, are you looking for a snake?"</p><p>When he looked over, a fox stood on a nearby tree root, observing him with narrow eyes and a smile. Its tail flicked back and forth behind it and it opened its jaws, doubtlessly to start some manner of trickery or bartering. So many yokai were all about tradition.</p><p>But Rikimaru thrust out a hand toward it, holding a piece of tofu, and the fox froze, its ears quivering. "You tell me where you saw him, you get this," Rikimaru said calmly, raising an eyebrow. The fox was torn between its usual conventional habits of trickery, and the allure of tofu. In the end, as is with all creatures, its stomach won and it lunged eagerly for the offered morsel, snapping it up greedily.</p><p>"Further in the forest <em>that way</em>," it said as it chewed, "you'll find the snake. Though he might not be the same as you last saw him."</p><p>"What the hell is that—"</p><p>With a giggle, the fox disappeared into the forest and Rikimaru watched its retreating tail coldly, wondering whether Orochi would enjoy a good fox stew. He shook his head, hurrying through the trees where the fox indicated. He fought his way through the trees in his way, snapping off several heedlessly, ignoring the cuts or marks left on his skin from his fight with the foliage.</p><p>He felt as though eyes were watching him from the trees, as though things were laughing at his struggle.</p><p>"You all forget I have axes and fire on my side," Rikimaru muttered and the laughter quelled from then on.</p><p>He battled on in relative quiet, until he pushed through a set of branches and stumbled into a small clearing. He trampled several mushrooms, nearly slipping on the leaf litter, and jerked his head, frantically scanning the surroundings. Nothing, nothing, a man, nothing, nothing—wait what?</p><p>Rikimaru's eyes widened in surprise at the figure sprawled on the ground.</p><p>It didn't look like a traveller or a monk, who would at <em>least</em> have some supplies prepared for sleeping in a forest. Rather, they were dressed in unusual finery, silvery and white robes. Their hair spread out all around them on the forest floor, twigs and leaves caught in the strands and Rikimaru thought, for a second, it must be a noble who'd been robbed and left for dead—when they moved.</p><p>No. Not them. Their hair.</p><p>A serpent, attached to the man's hair, rose up, its tongue flickering out to taste the air. It saw Rikimaru and its eyes popped and it turned, hastily nudging the man. The man groaned and swatted the air with a hand—a hand topped with long, sharp nails, tops of his arms completely covered with dark scales.</p><p>Rikimaru approached, looking down. There wasn't just one snake but <em>seven</em>, each of them attached to the stranger's hair. Every single one of them avoided his eyes when he looked at them, and he sat down next to the man.</p><p>Reaching out, he swatted at his cheeks with his palms.</p><p>"Ow—<em>ow</em>, how dare you!" the man spluttered, his eyes opening at once, and they bore a familiar colour and slit pupils. He swatted angrily at Rikimaru's hands and growled in a familiar voice, though far less high-pitched, "You have a lot of nerve, Rikimaru, handling me like that!"</p><p>"Sorry." Rikimaru paused, putting his hands back on his knees. "Why are you a human?"</p><p>Orochi looked at him blankly for several long moments, long strands of black hair hanging in his face... and then he startled, looking down at himself and then over at Rikimaru and then holding up his hands to stare. "Ah, oh, <em>this</em>, well, <em>this</em> is, you see—"</p><p>"More importantly," Rikimaru interrupted, frowning, "why didn't you come back last night? Dad's looking for you right now in the rice paddies. We were worried."</p><p>Orochi's face contorted and he looked away. He said something too low to hear and, when Rikimaru leaned in to try to catch it when he repeated it, he caught a tiny little, "Don't know how to use the legs on this damnable body."</p><p>Rikimaru put his hand to his forehead.</p><p>"Do not react like that," Orochi snapped, struggling to lever himself upright. So this was why he hadn't come back, Rikimaru thought. He could barely sit up, never mind get to his feet. "You've had <em>plenty</em> of years to get used to these <em>stilts</em> of yours, and I have not!"</p><p>"Right, right," Rikimaru murmured, not lowering his hand yet, though Orochi could <em>hear</em> him smiling. It came right through in his voice! This damnable human! He didn't even want to hold onto him when Rikimaru offered him his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his waist and pausing just a moment when he realised Orochi towered over him. "So, how did this come to be?"</p><p>"Well," Orochi said, grunting and finding his footing as they took the first of the many baby steps to get out of the forest, "you said I could not stay in your home were I too large, so I thought I would kindly accommodate you. However, now I'm not wondering if I ought to have remained in a more serpentine shape. Considering how <em>damned inconvenient</em> this is."</p><p>He swore as he stubbed his toe and Rikimaru winced in sympathy.</p><p>"For what it's worth," Rikimaru said, "I like this form. The scales make you stand out, but... I suppose we can just cover you up when we travel to the villages."</p><p>He felt more than saw the way Orochi fidgeted.</p><p>"So you plan on taking me on your excursions," he said casually, affecting an indifferent tone. "I suppose there's no help for it, I'll come along if need be."</p><p>Rikimaru had to fight not to look over at Orochi's face, to focus instead on guiding him. As a snake he had been expressive, but with features of a human—and features he didn't know how to <em>control</em>—he had just gone from easy to understand to <em>utterly transparent</em>. Probably best not to tell him about it.</p><p>"Do you think Dad's going to faint?" he asked abruptly.</p><p>"Why? It's only me," Orochi replied, frowning, as though he didn't realise how big of a deal a talking two-headed snake going to a tall man with <em>snakes for hair</em> and covered with scales was. It was a great deal harder to hide. But stranger things had likely happened in this world and, if the villages were leery of a snake-scaled man, they would deal with that when the time came.</p><p>"Guess so," he said.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Jinnosuke <em>did</em> faint. Twice. After he woke up the second time, Orochi said crossly that he was making a big deal out of nothing and then Jinnosuke yelled at him a while for slipping out and turning into a human (kind-of-human) without telling them and then all was well.</p><p>If he thought that walking was difficult, however, it hardly compared to attempting to use <em>chopsticks</em>. He refused Rikimaru's suggestions that he just eat with his fingers or feed the snakes that were both his hair and him. Anything Rikimaru could do, <em>he</em> would do. He would not be looked down upon just because he wasn't used to this <em>form</em>!</p><p>He didn't tell Rikimaru or Jinnosuke how he had done it, shaking his head when they asked and saying it was the privilege of something like him to be able to change forms.</p><p>In fact, it had been far more painful of a transformation than he had anticipated. He had had to use all of his magic and then some, sacrificing his life force and longevity so that he could gain a body much more like Rikimaru's. He did not tell them he was mortal now, despite his appearance, and would probably only live as long as a normal human from here on out. He kept all of that to himself, for a later time.</p><p>Rikimaru, like Orochi knew he would be, was terrifically patient with him. He helped Orochi to walk, he didn't move to do things <em>for</em> him but firmly showed him how Orochi could do them himself. Some days it was so frustrating that he just wanted to break things, but he felt his own gradual improvement after days that turned into weeks, weeks that stretched into months until the weather and air took on the taste of winter.</p><p>They were shoring up for the winter now, and Orochi winced and shivered whenever he stepped outside. At this time of year, he would have raided the villages, collecting things to eat and drink that would keep him warm through the season. He had stolen blankets from people before, building himself a tidy nest in the mountainside cave that had been his home. Now he dressed in warm clothes that they had traded for and spent most of his time (when not helping Jinnosuke and Rikimaru) sitting by the fire, the snakes in his hair bundled up against the cold as well.</p><p>As it happened, one day upon his return he noticed an unfamiliar pair of boots at the entryway. He frowned at them, confused, and lingered in the entry until Rikimaru hurried out to meet him.</p><p>"Yama," he said, using Jinnosuke's nickname, "welcome back." There was a hardness in his gaze, and Orochi's snakes flicked out their tongues to taste the air, to find out what was going on—and a shiver rocked down his spine. That scent was familiar. He heard it too, a booming voice laughing from further in the small residence.</p><p>"Susanoo?" he hissed and Rikimaru nodded.</p><p>He stepped down to Orochi and moved to gather his hair and his snakes, carefully bundling them all and tucking them down within the cloak that Orochi wore even during the coldest days. There was little they could do about his dark scales that covered his cheeks, neck and hands on such short notice, but Rikimaru passed him gloves and bade him pull his hood up over his head.</p><p>"It'll be okay," Rikimaru promised. "I won't let him do anything to you."</p><p>Orochi just raised his eyebrow at him, already a master of the skeptical <em>you think you can protect</em> me<em>?</em> look, despite his short amount of time in this body. He took a steadying breath and walked with Rikimaru into the main area of the home. Susanoo turned to look curiously at this newest arrival, Susanoo being a man Orochi remembered only vaguely—he'd been so drunk at the time that it was a mere haze until everything had been pain.</p><p>He was big and intimidating, though Orochi's height far outstripped his. Orochi was slender, however, and he folded himself up as he lowered to the floor, back against the wall, as far from Susanoo as he could get without drawing suspicion.</p><p>"Our friend, Yama," Jinnosuke said, exchanging a glance with his son. "He's the quiet sort and I'm afraid the cold is rather hard on him so please don't mind if he doesn't speak much, honoured Susanoo." He bowed briefly to the man, the god, who just grinned.</p><p>"I do not mind. Want you a cup of sake to warm you, friend?" he offered, oblivious to the way the words made Orochi twitch.</p><p>"Tea is all I desire. Thank you," Orochi said as quietly as he could, rankled by the need to act meek in what was his own home. Not that his voice would be recognised—he had never spoken to any human before save to demand sacrifices. Susanoo would surely not recognise his voice either. And sure enough, Susanoo shrugged lightly and turned back to Jinnosuke, happily exchanging stories with him across the fire.</p><p>Rikimaru brought a pot to Orochi and, when it was poured into a cup, he tasted it and found sweet, hot amazake instead of tea.</p><p>He looked up at Rikimaru in surprise and Rikimaru smiled wryly.</p><p>"This was supposed to be for later, and supposed to be a happier gift," he said, "but, well, surprise anyway. Drink up."</p><p>Orochi did, sagging against the wall as warmth settled through his whole body, heating him from the inside out. He could almost forget that the man who had cut his body up so neatly was sitting but a few paces away. Rikimaru's presence was bolstering, even if he had no chance were to Susanoo recognise him and decide to finish what he started.</p><p>However, the evening passed uneventfully. Susanoo was in the midst of travelling, and would soon return to heaven but he asked a favour to stay the night. Orochi wanted to yell at him to leave his home and never come back, but he could only sit and stew in silence with Rikimaru laying his hand over his in comfort.</p><p>It took a long time until he was able to sleep, even with his futon settled close to Rikimaru's. His motions were restless and he had to remember to keep his hood up, just in case.</p><p>When he had finally dropped into sleep, a voice came from over him.</p><p>"Yama, I apologise for interrupting your sleep," Susanoo said, "but I wish for your assistance. Would you step outside with me?"</p><p>Orochi's gut clenched and he tucked himself down underneath the futon blanket for a long moment. Rikimaru was fast asleep behind him, and he was loath to wake him up. If this was leading where he thought it was, he didn't want to involve Rikimaru or Jinnosuke. "All right," he muttered and rose from the futon, reluctantly following Susanoo out into the cold, winter air. Shuddering, he gripped his arms to his body and stared at Susanoo's back as the man lead them further from the house.</p><p>"Yamata no Orochi, I should say," Susanoo declared after he had come to a stop and turned to observe Orochi. "It is strange indeed to find you here, in this form. Alive, especially."</p><p>Of course he would recognise him. Orochi clenched his hands, trying not to shake. Even if Orochi had completely changed, his dark scales were unmistakeable, and it was awfully hard to hide your true nature from a <em>god</em>. Susanoo would have felt something off from the moment he entered the residence.</p><p>It was only through some warped sense of mercy he hadn't said anything sooner.</p><p>"Yes, well," Orochi replied, pitching his voice in Rikimaru's manner of casual indifference, "I was fortunate enough to scrape together some of my remnants." He pushed back his hood and shook his hair free, his snakes hissing thankfully but all of them watching Susanoo in the same cautious, tight manner.</p><p>Susanoo continued to observe him, as though trying to see through him. "This is the first time we've truly spoken," he commented.</p><p>Orochi frowned. "You didn't wake me up in the middle of the night and drag me out into this gods-forsaken cold just to small talk with me," he said flatly, tightening his arms around himself and trying not to shiver. He was impressed by his own guts, considering he was staring down a man who had absolutely chopped him into itty bitty pieces, like a butcher with a slab of meat on his block.</p><p>Susanoo, to his surprise, laughed and placed his hand to the side of his neck. "That's true, I didn't," he said. His expression turned a moment later, to something serious and a little angry, crackling like lightning in storm clouds.</p><p>Orochi, who had seen Rikimaru mad before and had been terrified by <em>that</em>, managed not to flinch, running his fingers over one of his snakes as he pretended he was waiting patiently for an answer.</p><p>"For what purpose do you lurk in these two good men's home?" Susanoo demanded. "I know of your nature, monster, your greed and your hunger. No matter what human skin you hide yourself in. Are you waiting to glut yourself upon them once the winter comes?"</p><p>Orochi blanched, staring incredulously. "You're kidding," he said and Susanoo's anger evaporated some, just from the way the reply was phrased. "This body's robbed me of my taste for human. Besides, I've found out that I don't need to eat them any longer."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Orochi shrugged one of his shoulders, refusing to elaborate more.</p><p>"You're surprisingly stubborn, monster," Susanoo said with a scowl. "Very well. Why not prove to me that your bloodthirst has abated?" At Orochi's blank expression, he elaborated, "We'll have a competition. Should you win it, then it will serve as proof to me that you're not the same creature that would gorge on humans."</p><p><em>It was once a year,</em> Orochi protested in his head and then, aloud, he said, "No way."</p><p>Susanoo blinked. "You refuse?"</p><p>"Of course I refuse. Do you think me an idiot? Every creature in this world and above it knows what happened the <em>last</em> time you had a challenge with anyone," Orochi scoffed. "I may not take away the sun when <em>I </em>go in a cave, but I've no desire to suffer your meaningless anger after one of your challenges, Susanoo no Mikoto."</p><p>"So you will not prove that you are changed."</p><p>"You'd think the fact that Rikimaru and Jinnosuke were alive after months with me would be proof enough," the snake-turned-man said crossly. "Take your challenges elsewhere; I haven't the time for them. You felled the monster that you wanted to and Yamata no Orochi isn't any more. Now you just have a man who can't abide the cold and who's avoided every time he steps foot in a village."</p><p>Susanoo took a step closer and Orochi tensed, but the god just looked at him—and jerked back in shock.</p><p>"You are mortal," he exclaimed.</p><p>Orochi looked away crossly, glaring up at the moonlight. "I've learned you have to make sacrifices in order to get what you truly want," he groused. "On the bright side, I'll get to die and be rid of gods and all of their nonsense rather than suffer eternally knowing they're still around."</p><p>Susanoo shook his head in disbelief, his anger dissolved and his hand rubbing against his coarse beard. "Yamata no Orochi turned man," he muttered. "Truly, this world has become strange."</p><p>"How about going back to heaven, then?" Orochi suggested scathingly, pointing up at the sky. "I promise I would <em>love</em> that."</p><p>"You're pushing your—"</p><p>"Oro—Yama!" a familiar voice shouted through the night's chill. Orochi turned as Rikimaru dashed toward him... wielding a pitchfork. He jerked the tool-turned-makeshift-weapon to point right at Susanoo, scowling fiercely, his eyes seeming to burn in the moon's dim light. Orochi squawked, grabbing at his arm and tugging it while spluttering <em>idiot, no!</em></p><p>Susanoo watched them with some bemusement before, at last, he sighed.</p><p>"I will not do anything," he told the snarling Rikimaru. "Though I am admittedly surprised by all of this."</p><p>Rikimaru's scowl didn't diminish as he put himself between Susanoo and Orochi, despite Orochi's best attempts to drag him back. "I'll not lose him," he swore fiercely. "Yamata no Orochi or not, it doesn't matter. I'll fight <em>you</em> if you try to do anything. Even if you're a god, I bet it still damn well hurts getting stabbed."</p><p>He jabbed the pitchfork threateningly until Orochi wrapped both arms around his chest and <em>dragged</em> him backward.</p><p>Susanoo covered a laugh with a cough. "Put down your weapon, good man, I've no designs on your... companion."</p><p><em>Companion</em>, but he was giving Orochi a very significant look. A look that made Orochi redden and made him also want to change into the huge monster he had been so that he could try biting Susanoo clean in half.</p><p>Rikimaru clicked his tongue in disbelief but, after a moment, he reluctantly lowered it. He didn't let it go, grip so tight his knuckles were white.</p><p>"I've already heard everything I need to," Susanoo said, rubbing his beard again. "And, I suppose I shall depart peaceably. It's probably best for me not to infringe on your hospitality any longer." Rikimaru's glare steepened and he cough-laughed again. "Farewell, Yamata no Orochi. May we not need to meet again."</p><p>"I'm praying <em>very vehemently</em> for that too." Orochi tightened his arms at Rikimaru's chest—though he didn't actually need to hold him back any longer and both of them knew it.</p><p>With little more than a motion, Susanoo turned and was gone, his figure glimmering briefly in the night's sky before disappearing under cover of clouds. They stood there for long minutes in the cold, as though Susanoo might change his mind and return, and Rikimaru was tense for all of that time. Only when the animals of the night began to make noise again did he relax and lean back against Orochi.</p><p>"Are you okay?" he asked, placing his warm palm on Orochi's hand where it gripped the clothing at his chest.</p><p>"Who do you think you're speaking to?" Orochi muttered, trying to sound arrogant and failing. He put his chin atop Rikimaru's head instead, closing his eyes as Rikimaru's short hair tickled underneath his jaw.</p><p>"Yama," Rikimaru replied with a tiny laugh.</p><p>"I hate that nickname. It's ridiculous."</p><p>"Orochi." Yes, that was what he preferred. Rikimaru smoothly saying his name...and smoothly turning so that they looked at each other. Orochi had lifted his chin so he could turn, but needn't have bothered, for Rikimaru put both of his arms about his neck and pulled Orochi down to him.</p><p>He kissed him, sweet and hot as the amazake he'd given him, and heat flowed right through Orochi's body. He could never tell Rikimaru why he no longer needed to consume humans, that... that whatever these emotions were, they more than sustained him. He hadn't known he could survive simply by being in contact with humans, knew only that he could survive for a year if he consumed one and never thought to try another way.</p><p>Orochi slid an arm around his waist, holding him tightly as he returned the kiss.</p><p>"Let's go back in," Rikimaru sighed to his mouth.</p><p>"Please. I'm freezing."</p><p>With Rikimaru guiding him by the hand, they returned back to their home.</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Tale of Yamata no Orochi: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is also my fav short of the lot LMAO mostly because of what happens to rikimaru</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was always difficult to anticipate what would be waiting in a village for them. Orochi's appearance was unnerving enough even when he was bundled up: a hood over his hair and his snakes, long sleeves to completely cover up the patches of scales that adorned his skin. People could be nervous around him, people could avoid him altogether or they might call others who would grill Orochi on who he was and what his purpose was in their village, so unusual was he.</p><p>That had happened more than once, with Rikimaru always there to swoop in and save the day. Now, Rikimaru was another thing all on his own. His sharp features and intense gaze often cowed people and they were more likely to soften if Jinnosuke was brought up in conversation. He was an old, well-travelled enough man, and their sake was well-appreciated for miles all around.</p><p>Orochi hoped beyond anything this trip would be peaceful.</p><p>It was a small town, a town built up higher in the mountains which presented another challenge altogether. He'd gotten used to walking and hiking but found himself very ginger on rocky slopes. Rikimaru kept an eye on him the whole time, though Orochi remained proud and refused to admit he was having trouble. Honestly, he thought, there should be easier ways to climb a mountain than actually have to <em>climb </em>it.</p><p>But it was worth it.</p><p>"Yessssss," Orochi groaned as he sunk down into the hot springs up to his nose, the snakes in his hair writhing happily in the water. Like most reptiles, he loved the warmth and this was just an <em>exquisite paradise</em>. He would live here, he decided. He'd take over the inn built around the hot springs and he would claim this as an extended part of his home and he would spend all of the cold months here with Rikimaru in the baths.</p><p>"I'm glad you like it." Rikimaru lowered in opposite him, a towel held over his crotch as he settled into the water. Orochi eyed it narrowly, thinking that he really had no need to cover up when Orochi had seen it all before and Rikimaru stared back flatly at him as though he had read his mind. "Do you want something to drink?"</p><p>They'd served them a few drinks in pitchers to keep in their room, though deterred them from consuming sake in the hot spring.</p><p>What Rikimaru offered him was a glass of juice. Specifically, mikan. That's right, he thought he had seen some of the trees lining the path into the tiny town proper.</p><p>...it was delicious.</p><p>"Do you want to do anything else besides relax in the bath?" Rikimaru asked as he spread his arms over the warm stones behind him. His hair, usually combed back from his forehead, was wilting in the heat and falling slightly over his forehead, his face already reddening from the warmth. His muscular chest was damp and Orochi wanted to keep eyeing him all over but that <em>stupid towel</em> was in the way...</p><p>"We hardly need to do anything else," Orochi declared. "We have already reached paradise. We've crossed the Floating Bridge of Heaven and reached the High Plain of Heaven--" He stopped, scowled. "No, actually, forget that. Being in the place where all the gods dwell would be it's own particular kind of hell. I vastly prefer this."</p><p>Rikimaru snorted.</p><p>"Well, you can stay in here forever I'm sure, but I won't be able to," he said, drawing lines through the water with his fingers.</p><p>"Mmmm... no helping it. I shall get out when you do, and then we shall lounge in our room. This is the height of luxury, Rikimaru," Orochi said, lifting up his chin. "I would live like this with you every day."</p><p>"If we could afford it." Rikimaru smiled, a small one that softened the severity of his intense face. "Well, next time we should bring Dad. I can't imagine he'll complain about aches and pains once he gets in here and soaks them out for a while."</p><p>Orochi pursed his lips. "Your father and us..."</p><p>"You've got complaints?"</p><p>"We can hardly do anything when Jinnosuke is around," Orochi muttered, flexing his toes and shaking his foot back and forth petulantly in the water. His snakes nodded their heads in agreement, tongues flitting in the air in Rikimaru's direction.</p><p>"Is that so? That never seems to deter you."</p><p>Orochi fidgeted, deciding to chalk the heat in his face to the spring and not to Rikimaru's flat, knowing look or dry tone of voice.</p><p>"We're lovers. You're the lover of the great Yamata no Orochi," he said, affecting as haughty a tone as he could, "therefore it is my duty as your lover to please you. As you have no home of your own, I have no choice but to take my chances where I can."</p><p>"Hmmmm."</p><p>"I-- I have taken you to the forest sometimes, haven't I? Just the two of us?"</p><p>"There are yokai there. It feels like we have an audience all the time." Rikimaru frowned. "It's not great."</p><p>"It can't be helped! There is nowhere else unless we travel to a town and stay at an inn..." Orochi flustered and flexed his fingers, squirming under Rikimaru's gaze. He never seemed to get embarrassed, it wasn't fair. Orochi was so much older, wiser, a creature of great experience and yet this human he chose (yes, <em>he </em>chose and definitely knew everything would lead here right from the beginning) hardly reacted to many things. "Therefore, when we travel places I would rather it be the two of us so we can make the most of it."</p><p>Rikimaru hummed and shifted, moving closer through the water to Orochi. Orochi watched him with sudden, intent interest, perking up and sitting up straighter.</p><p>"It can't happen all the time," Rikimaru said as he settled next to Orochi, stretching his arm over the stones behind him. His calloused fingertips touched gently at Orochi's back, petting the place just below his shoulder. "But. I like it as well. Just the two of us. Without worrying about yokai watching or my dad walking in or all the other weird things that happen whenever we get close to each other."</p><p>Orochi brightened and leaned closer. His snakes were already on the move, slithering eagerly over Rikimaru's shoulders and he reached a hand up to his face, clawed fingertips tracing along the line of his jaw. Rikimaru turned into it, leaning into it with his eyes closing, content and accepting and Orochi's heart tightened fit to burst.</p><p>Ah, he loved him. It wasn't something that he said often but he thought it very much. With how perceptive Rikimaru was, Orochi was sure that he knew just how much he was loved. Or, Orochi hoped as much.</p><p>It embarrassed him a little to say it aloud yet.</p><p>But Rikimaru had probably overheated already, Orochi thought as he kissed him, felt too-hot lips against his own. He was used to the dry heat of summer, not the sultry steam and water of the hot spring. Still, Rikimaru didn't bid him stop, only wrapped a hand to the back of his neck and opened his mouth. Orochi snuck his other hand downward until he found cloth fabric, dragged the towel away slowly as though that would keep Rikimaru from noticing. It didn't work, of course. Rikimaru caught that hand with his own, but instead of taking the towel back he intertwined their fingers and squeezed Orochi's hand, surging in closer, licking into his mouth.</p><p>He kept it up for an admirable amount of time, for a human. He let Orochi kiss him again and again, move his mouth to his wet, heated skin, but when Orochi was nuzzling into his chest he put his hands on his head and gasped, "Too hot. Let's get out. I seriously feel nauseous."</p><p>Orochi pursed his lips. "There's a cuter way of saying that," he complained quietly and Rikimaru rolled his eyes at him.</p><p>If there was one downside to hot springs, Orochi decided later, it was that he had to spend almost a full half hour <em>waiting </em>for Rikimaru to cool down. He sprawled bonelessly on the floor, eyes shut against his dizziness while Orochi sat cross-legged next to him and used a fan to attempt to cool his overly hot body.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Tale of Yamata no Orochi: Bonus Short II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“All right,” Jinnosuke declared one chilly winter’s day, “we’re building you two a house.”</p><p>“Yesssssssssss,” the fearsome Yamata-no-Orochi, coiled around Rikimaru from behind as much as possible to leech his body heat, hissed loudly. Rikimaru, on the other hand, stared at his father with bewilderment, his eyebrows hiked up and severe eyes wider than usual.</p><p>“There’s only so much of <em>that</em>,” Jinnosuke said, gesturing at the monster-turned-man, “that I can stand seeing, you know. You two need your own space.”</p><p>“Yessssssssssssssssssss,” muffled this time, as Orochi buried his head in Rikimaru’s shoulder and rocked him back and forth in his arms happily. His long legs completely folded around Rikimaru, who didn’t protest the silly motions so much as find them cute.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Rikimaru asked with a frown, ignoring his lover entirely. “What if you fall and break your hip when I’m not in the house with you?”</p><p>“<em>I’m not that old, you brat.”</em></p><p>Rikimaru shrugged, but there was a telling quirk to the corner of his lips. He was idly fending off a couple of the long black snakes that grew from the ends of Orochi’s hair as they attempted to kiss his face with their little tongues, obviously reacting to Orochi’s delight. He was so very, very transparent.</p><p>“At last,” Orochi said, lifting his face with a triumphant expression, “a home to call our own.”</p><p>“All of the hinting the past two months was getting tiresome too,” Jinnosuke said dryly, levelling a look at Orochi, who stared blithely back at him.</p><p>“I wasn’t certain you’d heard me,” he said with dignity.</p><p>“I heard you. Every single time, Yama.”</p><p>Orochi frowned at the nickname, then shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that mirrored Rikimaru to a T. “Either way,” he said smoothly, “thank you in advance, father.” Jinnosuke’s eye twitched but he shook his head tiredly and stood up.</p><p>“I’ve got some men coming to help,” he said, “so don’t you come outside, got it? We’re clearing some land this afternoon.”</p><p>“You’re working fast, Dad,” Rikimaru said.</p><p>“Naturally.” And with a “you two are really annoying sometimes”, Jinnosuke excused himself outside, leaving Rikimaru gazing after his back.</p><p>“Our own home,” Orochi was singing softly under his breath. “A palace fit for Yamata-no-Orochi and his esteemed lover.” He trailed off into happy little <em>hmhmhm</em>s and nestled his head back into Rikimaru’s shoulder, his snakes thrashing and squirming with excitement. Rikimaru placed one hand onto the scaled back of the hand on his stomach, smoothing his thumb over some such scales and felt more than heard Orochi’s surprised intake of breath.</p><p>“It’s not going to be much of a palace,” Rikimaru murmured. “Will you like it anyway?”</p><p>“Of course! Lest you forget, I used to reside in a cave. I’ve grown quite fond of being in houses,” Orochi said. “And <em>our</em> home will be the best.”</p><p>
  <em>Our home.</em>
</p><p>Rikimaru leaned back into the tall man behind him. Orochi’s grunt of surprise was short and quiet, then his arms tightened and he rubbed his forehead affectionately against Rikimaru’s shoulder. His excitement was truly endearing, Rikimaru thought, and it made him want to turn around, cup his cold face in his hands and kiss him. But, closing his eyes and considering it further, he knew Orochi would immediately not be satisfied with just a kiss and his father and men would be working outside, upping the potential of being caught...</p><p>On the other hand, they <em>would</em> be busy and perhaps they <em>wouldn’t</em> catch them if he chose to initiate something. Rikimaru considered this solemnly as Orochi, utterly oblivious to his thoughts, was just happy to be cuddled.</p><p>“Dad’s going to make us do all the work this spring,” Rikimaru realised abruptly. “There’s no way he’ll just build us a house with us not having to do anything. We’re going to have to plant all of the rice by ourselves.”</p><p>Orochi was silent for a moment, then he groaned pitiably in protest.</p><p>“You’ll have to step up, Yama,” Rikimaru told him, tilting his head backward to look up at his petulant face. He watched his nose scrunch and smiled.</p><p>“Is this my future?” he grumbled. “If I must, I must, as a proper husband.”</p><p>Rikimaru turned suddenly and <em>did</em> take that chilly face between his palms. Orochi’s eyes went wide, his snakes all stilling at once, blinking rapidly at Rikimaru’s sudden closeness and presence. Rikimaru swept his thumbs over sharp cheekbones, over scales, then leaned in, breathing warmly over his lips.</p><p>“Is that a proposal?” he asked softly.</p><p>Orochi’s eyelids fluttered and his gaze, slightly panicked, darted from side-to-side before back to Rikimaru’s. He took a breath, drew himself up slightly, and smiled, flashing sharp canine teeth. “Of course. I will be the most exceptional husb—”</p><p>He was about to be cute, in that puffed-up Orochi way, but Rikimaru pulled him by his cheeks into a kiss. He nibbled at cold lips until they warmed, until Orochi was wrapping his hands around Rikimaru’s wrists, clinging on in a way he would <em>never</em>, in all his ego, call clinging. He huffed and surrendered when Rikimaru darted his tongue over where he’d bit, melted backward as Rikimaru combed fingers through his hair and sucked his tongue so hard it ached.</p><p>When he refocused, Rikimaru watched him from a breath away as Orochi turned his head slightly, realised he was laid out on the tatami floors.</p><p>“Oho,” Orochi said and grinned.</p><p>Rikimaru pulled the front of his robe apart with one hand, tapped the index finger of his other to his lips and said, firmly, “Make sure you’re quiet.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Though Orochi frowned, he quickly capitulated when Rikimaru kissed his chin. “As you wish.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Diamonds and Toads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is another one of my favs, it's much more like the traditional fairytale but i also love a good redemption arc so</p><p>but fair warning there's throwing up?? poor rolf barfs up reptiles all the time, can i get an f in chat</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there lived a widow and her two sons. She was a mean-spirited woman and gave her elder son everything that his heart could desire while giving nothing to her younger son. The elder son grew up to be much like his mother, nasty and vile, while the younger son was sweet and beautiful.</em>
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  <em>One day, the younger son was ordered to travel his way up the steep hill to fetch them water.</em>
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  <em>It was a thankless and grueling task but he did so and, at the crest of the hill, he encountered an old woman by the well. She begged him to draw her up a drink of water and he kindly did so, asking her if she needed anything else.</em>
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  <em>She did not but, so touched by his gentleness, she revealed to him that she was a fairy and bestowed upon him a gift. "I am grateful for your kindness. Let this be your reward: whenever you speak, pearls and diamonds will flow from your mouth."</em>
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  <em>"Oh," said the son. "That's— well, thanks. Um. Yeah, thank you very much."</em>
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  <em>When he returned, his mother was furious, for he had taken quite a time on the hill.</em>
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  <em>But when she found out what he could now do and that a fairy disguised as an old woman had bestowed it upon him, she greedily plotted. She turned to her eldest son and instructed him to go to the well, draw water from it and to wait for an old woman to appear. The eldest son griped about it while shooting his brother hateful glances, but in the end he obeyed.</em>
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  <em>What was waiting for him after he had drawn up the water was not an old woman, it was a beautiful noblewoman who begged him to draw her a drink from the well.</em>
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  <em>"What? No. Get your servants to do it," the eldest son scoffed.</em>
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  <em>As soon as the words passed his lips, the woman's face grew stormy. And, in a flash, she revealed herself as the fairy his mother instructed him to find. "What terrible manners you possess. I curse you: from here on, when you open your mouth, snakes and toads will spew from it."</em>
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  <em>The son scoffed at first but, when he returned, when he attempted to tell his mother what happened... a snake slithered from his throat. He screamed, choked, clawing at his throat as he turned and fled into the forest...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And here is where our tale begins.</em>
</p><p><br/>
For how many days and night had Rolf desperately scrabbled his way through the forest, cheeks scraped raw by brush and thorns? He had lost track, fleeing something with a desperation that he didn't know he had in him. Eventually he stopped, slowed, resting his sweat-soaked body by a river as he shuddered in the cold. When he opened his mouth, to say something (even to himself), a croaking frog landed on the ground and he retched, coughing up bile into the grass as the toad watched him placidly.</p><p>Cursed, was he? Cursed never to speak without <em>this</em> unholy punishment?</p><p>Rolf rocked, clutching his throat as the night fell around him.</p><p>From that day onward, he could only describe his life as hell.</p><p>He had fled from his mother, but now he thought he ought to have gone back. That damn Verde, they could've bought so much with the diamonds and pearls he coughed up. But he had lost the way, knew not where he was. It was a fault of his upbringing, he being spoiled and uneducated to Verde's cleverness. He knew his younger brother had always snuck off to read and study and whatever else.</p><p>Well, it gave him a good reward in the end.</p><p>Rolf approached the first traveller he happened upon but, when he went to speak, they screamed and fled from him as snakes dripped to the ground below. He clutched his mouth and throat, fighting the urge to throw up again as he quickly came to realise one important thing: <em>he could not talk to people like this</em>.</p><p>What's more, he had little money on his person. More fool him, running into the forest without snatching up one of the jewels that had sat around Verde's feet.</p><p>He would—he would find the nearest town and somehow indicate to the people that he needed to return home but he was lost. Coin would serve him fine, there was few things people wouldn't do for coin!</p><p>So he thought, but when he went to the village and tried to wordlessly plead help from people, they avoided him. He was ragged, unkempt, unshowered and unshaven, his fine clothes shredded all to pieces. When he went to the inn to book a room to stay a night and attempt to get tidied up, the innkeeper eyed him skeptically as they tested the authenticity of his coin right in front of his face.</p><p>How <em>dare</em> they! Stewing with fury, Rolf was unable to voice his thoughts. If he did, surely he would be chased from the town.</p><p>He was limited to silence and notes, what he could write out on paper in a clumsy hand. His attempts to seek out his home were rewarded, however, and several men agreed to take him back there. It took the last of his coin, but it would be worth it. Once he returned, he could use Verde's gems as much as he needed!</p><p>—or, that was how it went in his mind.</p><p>Being pressed face-first into the ground did not do much for him. He choked and coughed as the robbers rifled through his things, clicking their tongues when they found no more than what he had given him.</p><p>"What a waste of time," one of them said disgustedly. "Suppose we could always sell him."</p><p>Rolf gagged as a knee pushed into the back of his throat. <em>Sell him?</em> To what ends?</p><p>"Bastards," he slurred and, from his mouth, slithered a serpent who hissed up at the man who had him pinned. The man shouted, lurching back away from him and Rolf gagged, spitting up onto the ground as the huge snake slithered forward, its fangs visible as its mouth opened.</p><p>"What in the seven hells," another muttered.</p><p>"If you think," Rolf started, coughing up a toad, which croaked, "that's disgusting, how about," a garter snake, slithering to join the others, "these?"</p><p>He retched as the serpents hissed and flicked their tongues, and the men swore, exclaiming they had touched a <em>cursed man</em> and fled as fast as their feet could take them. Exhausted, Rolf lay on his side, put his cheek on a ground not covered with his own throw up, and stared with a sickly pale face at the snakes.</p><p>The large snake that he had spit up when he cursed the thieves wound closer, flicking its tongue against his cheek. Rolf flinched from it, disgusted, thinking he should do something like stamp the creature to death. However... it looked at him with such intelligent eyes that it gave him pause and he took another look, struggling through his initial reactions, his mind that played out an image of it sinking its teeth into his neck.</p><p>It was long and handsomely coloured, all dark like the finest black leather but its underbelly was entirely red. Rolf didn't know serpents, didn't know what this one was, but it was a fine specimen. For a snake, anyway.</p><p>He put out his hand tentatively, reluctant to touch the reptile, but he found the skin oddly warm and silky soft.</p><p>"Huh," he muttered as the snake watched him calmly, tongue lazily flitting in and out of its mouth. He almost immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, but apparently small exclamations weren't enough to have him throwing up toads and snakes again. He thought what he wanted to say instead: <em>it would be useful to have something like this snake around</em>.</p><p>He slid his hand tentatively under its body and lifted it, startled by its weight at first. The snake went, as docile as a pet, and settled gamely around his shoulders when he put it there. It hardly moved, simply snuggled up to him as its fellows disappeared into the brush.</p><p>
  <em>What a strange beast.</em>
</p><p>The initial disgust had waned and Rolf busied himself looking around the camp. There wasn't much left—aside from a tattered cloak that the thieves had left behind. He picked it up and threw it on, shivering as he bundled himself up in it as much as he could.</p><p><em>Now what,</em> he thought, staring off into the night, more lost than he ever had been.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Rolf never did find his way back home.</p><p>Oh, he had tried. For a time. However, he people were even more reluctant to help him when he had no coin, wore a raggedy cloak, <em>and</em> walked about with a snake around his neck. Some villages had begun to whisper about him, calling him a <em>snake charmer</em>, and he didn't think it a compliment.</p><p>He had been furious to begin with. How <em>dare</em> these commoners speak about him like that? He was far above them in rank! He was smarter, better-spoken, <em>better off</em> than they had ever been! He had never had to be ankle-deep in dirt and mud trying to till a farm or other such nonsense. He had tried to sic the snake on them for a while, but the snake only ever stayed close to him, snuggled in, docile as a bunny.</p><p>...Eventually, he realised that his past didn't matter. His status didn't matter in this world at all.</p><p>He was forced to beg for food and water, shelter of any kind, scribbling out pleas on discarded pieces of parchment. People were cruel to him, treated him unkindly, looked at him with suspicion and fear of the snake he carried around his neck like a scarf. He was made to do menial tasks. He scrubbed dishes, floors, he buried latrines all the while he gagged at the smell. He once found himself elbow-deep in animal excrement and the only thing that kept him from storming away in fury and indignation was the snake's tongue flickering in encouragement (he thought) against his cheek.</p><p>That was the one thing that didn't leave him—the serpent. Though he slipped up when he was alone, muttering to himself in the dark and coughing up toads and snakes, only the big black snake remained of all those. It even grew larger, lengthening and thickening up, as though it were in the prime of its youth and had plenty of room to grow yet.</p><p>Taking the risk of toads or serpents, one day he told the snake he would call him "Magnus". The snake hardly reacted save to flick out his tongue, but Rolf was satisfied anyhow.</p><p>His hands, once soft, grew calloused and scarred. Nicks appeared on his body and his arms grew stronger from the physical labour. As he grew, so too did Magnus, who could wrap the entirety of his shoulders in his body and then some. Rolf knew that he was heavier than he had been but, to his surprise, he didn't notice.</p><p>Of course, with this came the negatives. People didn't trust him but, gradually, some people who gave him work again and again saw that he was willing to do it. He had discarded his selfishness out of necessity and a want to live, and people came to know Rolf as hard-working and diligent. He did not speak and had that peculiar pet, but nevertheless he wasn't a bad fellow to ask if you needed something.</p><p>He gathered all his coin, saving it up. He purchased a small pouch and he tied this to Magnus's body. This pouch was where he kept his money and no robber or bandit who saw the serpent and its pouch of coin was willing to risk it.</p><p>One sunny day, heaving crates of vegetables and fruits from the back of a cart, Rolf overheard some of the merchants and village people chatting.</p><p>"The king will be passing through here soon!"</p><p>"The king? Oh, my!"</p><p>Magnus stirred, lifting his head and looking to Rolf, who had stopped with his head cocked. When he saw the snake looking at him, he gave it a grimace-smile of apology and got back to work. Still, he listened closely, curiously. Here he thought he had lost the taste for gossip after being on the receiving end of it so often. <em>Not so, eh?</em> he thought with wry amusement.</p><p>"And they say that the king is bringing his betrothed with him."</p><p>"<em>I</em> heard that the king married a man," another villager whispered—a very poor whisper, given Rolf could hear it even when he let a crate thud down on the ground, fetching another.</p><p>"You heard right, my dear lady," the merchant replied. "Indeed, the king's partner is a man. He is apparently fair and beautiful. They say that pearls and diamonds flow from his lips when he speaks—"</p><p>Rolf choked.</p><p>His instinct was to <em>shout</em>, but training himself kept him from <em>that</em>.</p><p><em>Verde?</em> he thought incredulously. <em>Verde married the king?</em></p><p>It could be all hearsay, just an expression, a funny turn of speech given that some of the village people were laughing, but Rolf wasn't that gullible. There was something <em>to</em> rumours (yes, even ones about himself), and if Verde had married the king, then—</p><p><em>So what?</em> a voice murmured insidiously in his head. <em>So he'll save you from this life? After the way you treated him all his life? You foisted the chores off on him while you languished, you whined to your mother and saw to it that his life was a living hell.</em></p><p>Rolf's stomach clenched and he looked down at the crates of vegetables, at his well-worn hands.</p><p>He shook his head, dark hair swaying back and forth over his forehead. No... no... Verde wouldn't save him.</p><p>Something rubbed his cheek and he sighed as Magnus nuzzled first his head and then much of his sinuous body against him. The snake coiled a little tighter, tucking his head underneath Rolf's chin, like he was a baby cozying up to his mother. Rolf smiled crookedly, bitterly, and stroked the snake, whispering to it in his head: <em>I guess it's not so bad. I've got you, Magnus. And, we've saved up a lot.</em></p><p>He flicked his finger against the coin pouch on Magnus's body.</p><p><em>We'll buy a house and then we'll keep living like this. Villagers aren't afraid of us anymore, either,</em> he continued, leaning his cheek against Magnus's muscular body. <em>If Verde comes through, then I'll—</em></p><p>He was at a loss. What <em>would</em> he do?</p><p>Magnus looked at him with his deep, intelligent eyes, and Rolf nodded to himself.</p><p>He lifted up the crates on the ground and marched into the store.</p><p>
  <em>He wouldn't do anything at all.<br/>
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</em>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
He watched, that was all. Honest. He had resolved to do nothing, but Rolf was still damned curious about the whole affair. He hung back, far out of the way as people on horseback came through the village. He was wrapped up in his cloak and some of the village children familiar with him screamed around his ankles, jumping up to cling to it excitedly before racing closer to the streets. He petted Magnus for comfort, his gaze riveted as the largest and grandest carriage of all followed in the procession.</p><p>The windows of it were open and, carefully, he crept through the crowd closer, lifting his face so he could see over heads.</p><p>His heart seized, tightened up, because in the window was Verde. He was almost as Rolf remembered—except, even more lovely. He was clothed in finery, a circlet about his forehead, and he spoke with a soft smile to a man on his left that Rolf couldn't see. Sure enough, diamonds and pearls dropped past his lips, but he seemed as if he had gotten used to them, like Rolf had gotten used to his curse.</p><p>Verde turned, to gaze out fondly upon the village people—and met Rolf's eyes.</p><p>His eyes widened, his smile disappearing, and Rolf's heart lurched uncomfortably into his throat. He stared back, rigid, one hand on Magnus underneath his cloak's hood. Something uncertain swam on Verde's face, something like fear or apprehension, like he didn't know what he would do should Rolf cry out to him.</p><p>Rolf didn't.</p><p>Instead, discarding the last of his foolish pride, he put his free hand to his chest and bowed deeply to the carriage.</p><p>All he saw was dirt—and dark scales, out of the corner of his eye. Magnus rubbed affectionately under his ear and he sighed, relaxing. It was a move of self-satisfaction, but he had wanted to take away Verde's fears that Rolf was still the same terror he had been. How cruel he had been, a fact he only recognised after he had experienced the same cruelty from people.</p><p>"Stop! Stop the carriage a moment, please—"</p><p><em>What the devil?</em> Rolf lurched upright and saw Verde fling himself from the carriage, frantically scanning the crowd for him. <em>Oh, blast it, no.</em></p><p>Very courageously, he turned and made a run for it.</p><p>"Wait! Rolf, wait!"</p><p><em>Nope nope nope nope,</em> Rolf replied in his head, frantically chanting as he dodged through village people. Ones that knew him by name and knew that the king's husband called for him stared at him with wide eyes and open mouths and he groaned. Magnus, naturally, didn't care and just was along for the ride, his tongue flicking in and out.</p><p>As luck would have it, the village people saw this chance to betray him. Some moved to get in his way, people he recognised, people who he'd worked with before—good people, ones he could call friends. He opened his mouth to shout at them to <em>move</em> but brought his teeth together, grinding his molars to crush his voice to silence. Glancing left and right, he was already too late.</p><p>Verde knocked into him bodily from behind and, with a yelp, Rolf went tumbling, falling flat on his face.</p><p>"Oh, thank <em>goodness</em>," he gasped, and Rolf felt pearls or diamonds or both raining down on his back. He grunted in discomfort and Magnus uncoiled from around his neck so that he could slide free of his shoulders. "I was so worried you'd leave, forgive me for doing such a rough thing—"</p><p>"Nrghh," Rolf grumbled into the dirt.</p><p>"Oh gods, I'm so sorry," Verde spluttered and leapt to his feet. Sore in various places, Rolf reluctantly got his feet under him, scooped up Magnus with a hand, and turned to face his brother while shaking his hood down around his neck. "Are you okay? Oh no, you're bleeding."</p><p>Rolf waved off the offered handkerchief, shrugging to say <em>it's nothing</em> as he draped Magnus casually about his shoulders once more.</p><p>Verde looked at the snake with surprise, before looking to Rolf's face. Rolf wondered what he thought of what he saw—Rolf was careful to keep himself clean shaven, hating facial hair, but his dark hair had grown out long, but too short yet to be pulled into a tail. His face was certainly more tan than Verde had ever seen it, and combine that with the simple clothing he wore... he was the quintessential villager.</p><p>Except he had a goddamn big snake, but that was neither here nor there.</p><p>"It's been such a long time," Verde said, biting on his lower lip. "You're—you look different."</p><p>Rolf nodded. <em>You were always good at phrasing things politely,</em> he thought.</p><p>"Will you... not speak to me?" Verde posed.</p><p>Rolf looked around them, and then raised both of his eyebrows significantly at his brother. He jabbed a finger pointedly at Magnus, then at his throat, and Verde clapped his hands over his mouth. Good gods, Verde had forgotten! Well, not that Rolf could blame him. In retrospect, Rolf wanted to forget all about his past self too...</p><p>"Okay, all right, um, come this way! Excuse me, if I could just get through..." Verde tried to lead the way but the amazed villagers weren't having it. Rolf made a face and gestured threateningly, pulling Magnus into both hands and holding him out. The snake didn't make a move at all (he looked ready for a nap), but the villagers all backed up, most of them still nervous of a big snake.</p><p>Except for the kids. They couldn't get enough of Magnus.</p><p>"Thank you." Verde smiled at him and grabbed him by the arm, leading the way back toward the royal carriages. Magnus settled back about Rolf's shoulders, and Rolf sat in very uncomfortable silence once he had been herded inside with Verde and the king himself.</p><p>"So this is—your brother?" the king looked at him apprehensively (it was the snake thing) and curiosity. There was a lack of comprehension there, and Rolf assumed that Verde hadn't told him about what a fucking tool he'd been to him his whole life.</p><p>"Hi," Rolf said shortly. He was safe with short words, but once he got to talking, this whole carriage was going to be turning into a paradise for toads and snakes.</p><p>"He got cursed a while ago," Verde offered. "When, er, when he talks snakes and toads kind of..." He gestured at his own mouth, where pearls and diamonds still dropped, littering the floor of the carriage. It actually crunched to shuffle his feet—Rolf could only assume he and the king had had a grand chat their entire journey.</p><p>"That's troubling," the king said, looking at Rolf sympathetically.</p><p>Rolf shrugged. "Deserved the curse," he said, and coughed up a small frog into his palm. Verde looked surprise. He held it out the window so it could hop to freedom, and felt the carriage begin to move, rocking back and forth. "Where we going?" Another small frog, a friend for the one he'd just released. They were cute, blue and yellow with googly black eyes.</p><p>"Just a little outside the village. We'd planned to stop to lunch there anyway," Verde replied. The king seemed aghast, thrown off by Rolf coughing up frogs as easy as that. "I hope you don't mind catching up with me?"</p><p>"If <em>you</em> don't mind," Rolf answered and heaved up a little snake with a grimace. It wrapped around his hand and he rubbed it with his thumb until they stopped and he could let it go in the grass. He followed the king and Verde as the entourage set up a—a damn <em>picnic</em> for them, and there was an incredulous look on his face.</p><p>It was very <em>Verde</em>, though, of what he remembered of his brother.</p><p>Things he had once thought annoying or stupid, now he saw through fresh eyes. He observed his brother's mannerisms, the shy way he flitted close to the king and then flitted away, the significant way that he touched him. They were small gestures, brushes against his elbow, but filled with such affection that Rolf's chest ached with loneliness.</p><p>The closest thing he had to a friend was Magnus. And Magnus couldn't talk with him.</p><p>He leaned his cheek on the snake for a moment before following Verde's beckoning to a picnic blanket separate from the king's. He observed as food was laid out, uncertain what to do in face of such delicies, food he hadn't had in—well, forever.</p><p>"'S it okay not to sit with His Majesty?" Rolf asked, dropping a toad off to one side.</p><p>Verde nodded, his eyes on Rolf's. "I've wanted to speak with you for such a very long time. The king understands."</p><p>Rolf shifted his own gaze away uncomfortably. He pulled Magnus off of his shoulders, letting the snake stretch out in the sun on the blanket. "Surprised you do," he said. "I'm sorry, by the way." He made a face. "That doesn't sound like I mean it, but I do. Not just 'cause I got cursed, either." He coughed up a snake and let the black reptile (like Magnus but baby sized) slither away into the grass. "I was an ass to you my whole damn life. Not sure how I managed it from birth, but I definitely did."</p><p>He folded his legs and awkwardly looked at Verde's face. Verde was staring at him, stunned, and Rolf grimace-smiled, looking down at his knees instead. This was so awkward. How were you supposed to talk nicely with a brother whom you had never spoken nicely with in your whole lives together?</p><p>"Thank you," Verde said, after a moment. "I appreciate that. I don't know that I'll—" He paused, his face twisting in effort, like it was unbearable for him to say something that wasn't gentle or kind.</p><p>Rolf barked out a laugh. "Not asking you to forgive me," he said. "Don't expect you to. An apology doesn't make up for a lifetime of tormenting."</p><p>Verde said nothing but he nodded. After several moments of awkward silence passed between them, Verde murmured, "I wish I could solve your curse, though."</p><p>"Huh?" Rolf blinked. "Oh. Don't worry 'bout it." He reached for some of the picnic food, not deterred at all by the green snake he'd just spit out. He'd long gotten used to eating after that, no longer disgusted or put off by it—though Verde might be.</p><p>"No," Verde said quickly. "I'm worried about it. It must be hard not being able to speak with anyone."</p><p>"Fairy put the curse on me," Rolf replied, frowning. "Don't know how to take it off. I doubt she'll be wanting to." He scoffed lightly and ran his fingers down Magnus's back as the snake coiled closer to him, resting his head upon Rolf's knee.</p><p>"We don't know if we don't ask. Though I'm not sure how to find her—ah!"</p><p>Rolf startled at the exclamation. "What?"</p><p>"The house! I bet if we return to the house and to the well, we'll find her!" Verde exclaimed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, his eyes sparkling as much as the diamonds that dropped past his lips.</p><p>Rolf could only stare.<br/>
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There was an acidic taste in his mouth. He knew the roads upon which the carriage traveled, and only sunk down lower in his seat. Not even Magnus's vehement nuzzling against him could soothe his anxiety or his faint sense of fear. Here—would his mother be here? Verde thought not, he told him, but there was also the matter of the fairy. He didn't want to meet her. He clenched his teeth and buried his face in Magnus's body as the snake circled his head, tongue flicking comfortingly against his cheek.</p><p>When the carriage stopped, the fear nearly overwhelmed him.</p><p>"It'll be all right," Verde said, and Rolf wondered when he had gotten so strong and sure. "You'll see. Let's go, Rolf—we'll be back soon, Your Majesty."</p><p>The king, just along for the ride, smiled gently and squeezed Verde's hand before leaning back in his seat. Together the brothers exited the carriage and turned toward the house.</p><p>It was abandoned. That much was obvious by a glance.</p><p>The front door hung open and when Rolf tentatively approached it, a family of mice scattered under his feet. Magnus watched them intently, but stayed in place around Rolf's neck as he looked into the house he had once called home. It was so familiar... but everything was covered by dust. Plants had begun to creep into the building and animal droppings were scattered across the floor.</p><p>He'd almost feared he would've found his mother's corpse here. But, no, there were just plants, dust, and the sound of animals skittering through the rafters.</p><p>He pulled back from the house and glanced at Verde, who shook his head helplessly. But he slipped inside, leaving Rolf at the entrance. He heard his brother shuffling around and walking around inside, wondering vaguely what he was looking for—before it all became very clear. He returned carrying two jugs in his hands.</p><p>One was the heavy jug Verde had always used, and the other was the silver pitcher that Rolf had taken for its light weight.</p><p>Now he moved to pluck the heavy jug from Verde's hands with a crooked smile. "Princes shouldn't carry heavy stuff around," he told him matter-of-factly and Verde's mouth hung open before forming into a tentative, sweet smile. It was interrupted only by Magnus, who hissed softly (he never hissed) and butted his head <em>hard</em> into Rolf's cheek. "What? What's the matter with you, my little king?" Snorting, Rolf scratched underneath the snake's chin.</p><p>"Maybe he was jealous," Verde suggested with a laugh and Rolf rolled his eyes.</p><p>Together they headed up the hill, tracing a familiar path. Rolf had only been up it once, but he remembered it all too well, even if it was overgrown with weeds by now. At the crest of the hill was their old well, sitting innocuously, as if it had been untouched since that fateful day.</p><p>Verde looked at him and went to draw water from the well.</p><p>The bushes shook and out stepped a woman. She was neither old nor young, a middle-aged woman of plain appearance. She had a mild look on her face, a look that changed into surprise when she looked from Verde to Rolf, as though she wasn't expecting them. "My apologies for interrupting you, gentlemen," she said, and Rolf knew at once what she was. "I don't suppose you could spare a little water for a simple woman's throat?"</p><p>"Of course," Verde replied gently, likely how he had many years ago, and offered her the pitcher. She looked at the vessel with surprise, but drank a modest sip from it before smiling at him.</p><p>"It's been years since we last met. I see pearls and diamonds still flow from your lips. I hear tales too of your kindness," she said. Rolf hung back and said nothing, stroking Magnus who had tightened his coils around Rolf's shoulders. "Would you wish from me another reward?"</p><p>"No, good fairy," Verde said. He placed the silver pitcher carefully on the well and offered her his hands. "I only wish that you may take back the reward you gave to me many years ago. My kingdom is already rich and bountiful—I need not add any more to it besides what I can do with my own honest efforts."</p><p>The fairy widened her eyes, but then she laughed and nodded. "As you wish. I will take back my thanks... in gratitude to you."</p><p>Verde bowed deeply and took several steps back, further until he was just watching.</p><p>Without looking at the fairy, who calmly observed him, Rolf approached the well. He craned his head to look into its depths and Magnus hissed low in his ear. Putting the heavy jar onto the hook, he easily lowered it down into the well and filled the vessel, drawing it up and holding it in his hands. The water flowed cold over his palms and Magnus leaned his head to look down at it before he perked up to stare toward the fairy.</p><p>"My thirst is not yet quenched," the fairy said thoughtfully. "Would you spare me a drink, sir?"</p><p>Rolf nodded without vocalising a reply and turned to her. He awkwardly met her eyes and paused in the act of handing her the jar. "Hang on," he said, and scanned the ground and surrounding trees. He plucked a large leaf from a nearby tree and poured a drink of water into it, offering it to her.</p><p>"...My thanks," she said and drank all of the water.</p><p>"More?" he asked when she had finished.</p><p>She shook her head, looking down at the leaf in her hand, and then she smiled abruptly. It was a quiet, melancholy smile. "It has been a long time since I last saw you, as well. The last time we met, you were unmannerly, you were unkind." Rolf looked down, tightening his grip on the jar as he nodded his head. "...But, I have heard tales of you as well."</p><p>He startled, lifting his head.</p><p>"In a village, not too far, there lives a man who never speaks," the woman began. "He always is to be seen with a snake around his neck. He seems to be a snake charmer yet a beggar, and he must come from some kingdom far away, for surely no-one else of his like exists. He works very hard and he cares for the village children without letting them come to harm by his serpent. He speaks little, but he is a man you can count on. You oughtn't be afraid if you see him, for he is as mild as they come."</p><p>Rolf flushed hard and ducked his head down lower.</p><p>"...Yet, he is always alone. Why does the snake charmer not have any friends? Though he does not speak, he is a handsome man and is sure to win someone's hand if he wished." The fairy gave him a significant look and Rolf just shook his head. "He must have some secret. Surely he wishes for no harm to come to those close to him—that's why he holds all of us at arm's length.</p><p>"That is the story I have heard of you, young one."</p><p>Rolf nodded, unable to look up.</p><p>"You have changed very much," the fairy said thoughtfully. "Do you wish a boon from me? I will reward you, if you desire."</p><p>Rolf's gut clenched and he looked up at the fairy. This—this was what he had always thought of. She wasn't so frightening when she was a simple woman, and he compared her to the ladies of his village. He had never asked anything of them, had accepted anything they gave him out of their generosity and did his best to return it. He had gotten past the selfishness of his past and, as such...</p><p>Magnus rubbed against his cheek and he turned to look at the snake's eyes. Magnus stared at him, focused, as his tongue flitted in and out.</p><p>"A boon, for my friend?" Rolf's voice left him so abruptly he was startled by it. "For Magnus. He's always stayed with me, even though I don't understand why." He smiled when the snake rubbed under his nose, and gently lifted him from his shoulders to hold him in his arms. Turning back to the fairy, he held out the huge black serpent, which looked not at the fairy but at Rolf.</p><p>He could swear there was uncertainty in Magnus's eyes.</p><p>"Indeed," the fairy muttered, staring at Magnus in contemplation. "You have a unique creature. He was born from your curse, but he is more than it." She approached and the snake shied back from her in a gesture Rolf had never seen. He even allowed the village children to manhandle him as much as they wanted without a single sign of discomfort. "Very well. I will grant this snake's wish."</p><p>"His wish?"</p><p>Rolf's echo fell on unhearing ears, for the fairy took Magnus up in her hands. The snake writhed in protest, trying to escape, and Rolf wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. He lurched forward, to snatch Magnus back before he could come to harm—but light blinded him and he yelped, reeling away.</p><p>"Rolf!" Verde shouted, hastening to his side and gripping his arm when Rolf went to lunge again. "Wait!"</p><p>"But Magnus—"</p><p>As quickly as it appeared, the light disappeared. And, Magnus was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Standing there instead was a man, a man dressed in simplistic village clothes, but with hair that was long and dark, stretching in a straight sheet down his back. Except for the strands on the underside, which shone bright red. The man looked around frantically as the fairy observed him, saw Rolf and lurched toward him, stretching out his hand as though desperate for his help. "Rolf!"</p><p>Rolf could only stare as the man fell against him, cursing at his legs. "Uh."</p><p>"A boon for me, are you <em>serious</em>, you are a right fool and always have been, you should have asked for your curse to— wait a moment. I'm saying all this aloud." The man frowned as he looked at Rolf's face. He opened and closed his lips several times. "I'm <em>saying this</em> <em>aloud</em>."</p><p>"...Magnus?" Rolf asked tentatively.</p><p>"Yes," Magnus replied. His eyes were the same as they had been when they were a snake—dark, dark, but so intelligent and aware. "—my gods, I am speaking with you. Oh dear. Oh my." He leaned back but lost his balance, wobbling on his legs like a newborn fawn until Rolf helped him by holding him by the arm. "Th—thank you, Rolf... but I am not thanking you for <em>this</em>. How <em>dare</em> you."</p><p>"Right," Rolf muttered, willing to agree with anything given his mind couldn't catch up with the situation.</p><p>"A boon has been given to your friend," the fairy said with amusement. "And now, I should like to take my curse back from you, as well."</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>But before he could react, the fairy was before him and touching his throat with a gentle tap. It wasn't anything significant, nothing more than a touch, but something felt as though it untied and slid away. He swallowed once, hard, and tightened his grip on Magnus, who had opened his mouth much like he was trying to hiss at the fairy.</p><p>"You're sure?" Rolf asked quietly. "I didn't come here expecting anything."</p><p>"I know," she replied. "And that's why I'm certain. I bid you farewell, Rolf and Verde. May we not meet again in this life." Then, with a smile, she turned and disappeared back into the trees and brush that she had emerged from.</p><p>"Well, a right mess she's left us in," Magnus piped up crossly. "She could have at least bestowed upon me the knowledge on <em>how to walk properly</em>."</p><p>Rolf looked down at his companion-turned-human, taking in his face and his features. Verde looked just as baffled, unsure how to approach it, but... If it was Magnus, he already knew each and every thing about Rolf. And if it was Magnus, Rolf had the confidence to know how to respond. "Don't worry, Magnus. I'll just sling you 'bout my neck again," he told him. No snakes or toads or reptiles spilled past his lips as he spoke and he found he could smile at Magnus, wide and bright.</p><p>"Bah," Magnus scoffed but smiled at the same time. His tongue peeked out a corner of his mouth before he remembered himself and sucked it back in. "Musclehead you may be, but you'd find me too heavy for you now."</p><p>"You look light as a feather," Rolf replied. "Besides, I doubt you're heavier than four vegetable crates stacked."</p><p>"<em>Musclehead</em>," Magnus repeated. "I've always wanted to tell you that's not something you should carry in one go. But no, Rolf wants to do it the <em>efficient</em> way—"</p><p>Verde cleared his throat quietly and both turned to him. He smiled brightly, though with polite confusion, and spread his hands. "Should we continue this back in the carriage?" he asked and, after a moment, both of the other men acquiesced.<br/>
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"So, your wish was to be a human?"</p><p>Rolf asked the question later, much later, when night had fallen and he and Magnus took to their usual spot outside of the village. It wasn't the same as usual—they had to set up two places to sleep as opposed to one—and Magnus could no longer drape his whole body about Rolf's shoulders in the same way, but he did settle close to soak in Rolf's warmth. Just like a snake, not able to abide the cool air.</p><p>"Not—quite," Magnus replied with a frown. "I had a wish something like that, but as a snake my thoughts weren't nearly as composed. It was more a desire to be... with Rolf?"</p><p>Rolf blushed, gazing at the night sky. "You were already with me," he mumbled.</p><p>"<em>More</em> with you," Magnus said, huffing impatiently. "I could hardly speak with you. <em>That</em> was what I wanted... I think. To be able to be a true companion to you."</p><p>He didn't say <em>friend</em>, Rolf noticed but didn't comment on.</p><p>"What of you? Were you fine letting your brother leave like that?" Magnus rolled on his side, the better to look up at Rolf's face. "I'm sure that if you asked him to give you a home in the capital, he would have."</p><p>Rolf grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't want it," he replied. He was still not used to talking without snakes or toads spilling from his mouth, so had yet to curb the habit he'd developed of speaking in short sentences. "I like this village." He paused. "I can talk to everyone now."</p><p>"You already made some people almost faint, talking to them," Magnus murmured with an amused, snaky smile. Rolf rolled his eyes.</p><p>"They'll get used to it. They'll have a harder time getting used to <em>you</em>, though. You made more people faint telling them you were the snake than me," Rolf said. "'I was once a simple man cursed into the form of a snake and I was saved by Rolf', my ass. More like 'Rolf threw me up once and I liked him so I stuck around and now I'm a man'."</p><p>"Gross," Magnus groaned. "You don't need to phrase it like that." He shoved at Rolf's shoulder but, just as soon afterward, he nuzzled up close, leaning to rub his nose right into Rolf's cheek. Rolf wondered if it was on purpose or habit, so too with the peck of a kiss.</p><p>"Well, it's true," Rolf said. But he looked down at him, biting his lip. "Why <em>did</em> you stay with me?"</p><p>Magnus blinked and put his cheek on Rolf's shoulder. "That's a question, isn't it," he murmured. "I suppose I found you pitiable."</p><p>"Thanks," Rolf said dryly.</p><p>"You were all beaten up," Magnus continued, "and looked close to death, but you still acted high-and-mighty at a bunch of robbers." He chuckled quietly. "And you used what you had to keep them from killing you. I think I liked that. You were disgusted by me at first, too, but you still touched me and didn't run away from me."</p><p>Rolf was quiet, listening to him speak as he gazed up at the sky.</p><p>"I think it was as much you <em>wanting</em> me to stay and me <em>wanting</em> to stay," Magnus finished.</p><p>"You should've said that to begin with, Magnus."</p><p>"But then I wouldn't get to see you disappointed." Magnus grinned devilishly and craned up again, pushing himself upright until he loomed over Rolf.</p><p>He planted his hand to one side of Rolf's body, effectively trapping him. Magnus was a small, slight thing so Rolf imagined he could just blow on him and he'd fall over, but he didn't want to. Magnus's long hair spilled over his shoulders to tickle Rolf's face, and everything was so familiar that it was funny, as though they had been exchanging conversation long before now.</p><p>"Are you planning on disappointing me now?" Rolf asked tentatively, shifting under Magnus.</p><p>Magnus's eyes widened as if he had been expecting something else entirely. He smiled thoughtfully and leaned down, resting his weight on Rolf. "No. I'd like to see you happy now." He feathered a kiss over Rolf's brow. "And maybe embarrassed, too." His lips slid down the bridge of Rolf's nose, until he found his mouth.</p><p>They looked at each other a long moment, a moment where Rolf mentally came to terms that he was about to kiss his snake-turned-man and Magnus came to terms with the fact that he had no idea what he was doing but this sure <em>felt right</em>.</p><p>Then they kissed, as their fire dimmed down to crackling embers.</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Diamonds and Toads: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i think theyre kawaii</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morning came too soon, as per usual. Rolf squeezed his eyelids more tightly shut under the glare of sunlight that pierced through paltry curtains before he reluctantly opened them.</p><p>Too bright...</p><p>He grumbled tiredly, rubbing his thumb into the corner of one eye, then the other, waiting for his vision to adjust. He'd had his face pressed into something dark all night, so the morning sun wasn't welcome, especially when he thought of working all day. It wasn't as though he minded working, he actually enjoyed keeping busy and moving his body, but ever since...</p><p>Movement at his side. He looked over at Magnus's sleeping face as he resettled, half-concealed by his long, long hair. <em>This </em>was probably why he was reluctant to get up and work. Less time in the day spent with Magnus, their conversations going late into the night as though the two of them were always trying to make up for a lifetime of lost time. Rolf moved his hand to brush Magnus's hair out of his pretty (alarmingly pretty) face before he levered himself upright.</p><p>He yawned again and slid his legs free of the bed.</p><p>It had been nearly a month since the day Magnus became human and in that time several things had changed. It was much easier to save up money when it wasn't one but two people working the day away, especially when Magnus had a quick mind and a quicker hand at picking up things. His exotic appearance and his (Rolf thought) ridiculous story about where he came from also stirred people's curiosity about him. He'd had to learn to write but he'd picked it up just like that, which Rolf found baffling in a number of ways. Rolf had to be specially taught but Magnus merely set into a task with ferocity and picked it up.</p><p>His drive was admirable.</p><p>"You've had a long time to pick up more skills than me, I can't rest for a moment," Magnus told him once, fully devoted to copying letters out on small sections of parchment. "I'll catch up to you in a year, musclehead."</p><p>At this rate, he'd surpass Rolf in far less than a year.</p><p>Rolf didn't mind, however. He'd once craved to be the best, but now he was content with the way things were. Of course, a new anxiety surfaced now that Magnus was always out and about in the town. He was charming, Rolf thought, although brusque and blunt. He quickly caught eyes and he feared for the future if some well-to-do man or woman should come into town, fall in love with Magnus and take him off to a palace somewhere.</p><p>A terrible thought...</p><p>He shook his head, leaning over Magnus's sleeping form and kissing the top of his head gently before he rose to get ready for the day. He combed his hair back into a tail, wondered at the novelty of living in a house again after so long sleeping out in the wilderness, and left after checking on Magnus and tucking him in again.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
The village was always busy in the mornings and Rolf had no shortage of work. Though he could talk to others, he preferred to work in silence, as though he were saving all of his words up for the evenings or the afternoons when he'd spend time with Magnus. Those he worked for were long since used to this, honestly more startled when he talked to them.</p><p>He had just finished loading up a wagon headed out of the village when he heard quick footsteps clattering toward him.</p><p>Glancing over, he startled as Magnus slammed himself right into Rolf's side, his arm hooking with his, a small scowl on his face. "You didn't wake me up," he scolded. "You should wake me up when you're leaving in the morning."</p><p>"You looked really peaceful."</p><p>"Everyone looks peaceful when they're sleeping." Magnus looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Wake me up next time, got it?"</p><p>"Sure, sure, little king."</p><p>Magnus's lips compressed in disapproval, but the pink splotches in his cheeks told Rolf that he didn't mind the pet name. He just shook his head and loosened his grip on Rolf's arm, his hands dropping so he could perch them on his hips. "Are you almost done? It's about time for lunch."</p><p>Rolf glanced quickly over one shoulder, double-checking that there wasn't anything else to be heaped into the carriage. He saw the shopkeeper peering out of the back door at them with an amused smile.</p><p>"That's it for now. Thanks for your help as always, Rolf."</p><p>Coin exchanged hands and Rolf nodded thanks before Magnus dragged him off with a triumphant smile.</p><p>They always ate near the edge of the village, where towns changed into smoother hills, where Magnus liked to stretch out on a patch of sunny grass and bask. Rolf worried for him in the winter, whether he'd dislike the cold or if he'd become sleepy like he had when he was still a snake. They'd have to find a new spot to eat lunch if the weather was too bad.</p><p>"That's all you have? Good thing I brought extra."</p><p>"I don't eat much at lunch," Rolf protested as Magnus attempted to foist an extra bowl of pottage off on him. He had no choice but to take it, as Magnus's dark gaze was stubborn.</p><p>"This is why you eat like a monster in the evening. Eat."</p><p>Rolf shrugged and did so. It was delicious and filling, simple a meal as the stew was. Anything tasted delicious when he ate it alongside Magnus though and he startled as soon as he finished the thought, looking quickly over at Magnus's red face. "Did— Did I say that aloud?"</p><p>Magnus rolled his eyes, red-faced and the corners of his lips twitching. "Of course you did. <em>Honestly</em>."</p><p>Magnus tilted sideways into Rolf's side and the insecure thoughts from the morning dimmed into almost nothing. How could he worry when Magnus was right here, when Magnus got angry at him for leaving in the morning without saying goodbye?</p><p>"Oh, I nearly forgot." Magnus perked up suddenly, reaching into the front of his jacket and withdrawing a neat vellum letter, marked with a familiar wax seal. "This came for you. They asked me to pass it on to you."</p><p>"Looks like it's from Verde."</p><p>He took the letter, breaking the seal and opening it, curious what his brother had to say. They had limited contact and Rolf honestly didn't know what to say to him a lot of the time, assumed that Verde was happier not being in frequent contact with him. The letter was standard, well-wishes for his and Magnus's continued good health, and then it detailed what Verde was up to. He seemed quite happy to write about how life was better now that his 'blessing' was gone and asked Rolf to write to him soon. In fact, the letter read, Rolf and Magnus should come to visit the capital and the castle when they found the free time. There was a festival coming up the month after next and it was a wonderful thing to behold.</p><p>"Hmmm," Magnus muttered. He'd read the whole thing with his chin hooked over Rolf's arm. "A festival, huh."</p><p>"Could be interesting. Want to go?"</p><p>Magnus wore a strange expression, tight and tense, his tongue peeking out of a corner of his mouth. Was he thinking deeply about something? It was just the travel they had to worry about, but if they walked most of it and perhaps got a horse for the final stretch they could manage it and it wouldn't be too expensive. He imagined Magnus's reactions to a festival and smiled thoughtlessly.</p><p>Magnus looked sullenly at him. "Are you that excited about seeing your brother?"</p><p>
  <em>Hm? Seeing Verde?</em>
</p><p>Oh, was Magnus misunderstanding? Rolf remembered abruptly an instance when Magnus was still a serpent, the way he'd hissed at Verde and coiled tighter around Rolf.</p><p><em>"Maybe he was jealous,"</em> Verde said at the time and Rolf had laughed at it, but now...</p><p>That sulky expression...</p><p>"It'd be fun to go around a festival with you. I didn't really care about them before, but that was before you," Rolf said to Magnus, reaching to comb his fingers through his long bangs. Magnus narrowed his eyes, eyeing Rolf like he was deciding whether or not he believed him. Rolf tilted closer and pressed their foreheads together, nudging against him. "That's what I was thinking about."</p><p>"Oh, really," Magnus said in an arch, dismissive way, but his fingers slid smoothly along Rolf's neck, over a spot that caused a sharp shiver. Magnus smiled thinly when he noticed it, fingers walking up toward his ear, tugging on Rolf's earlobe before he leaned in to bite it, scraping his teeth over the skin. Rolf exhaled a harder breath than he meant to, gripping the hair at the back of Magnus's head, red and black strands bunched in-between his fingers.</p><p>"Jealous?" Rolf dared to ask, even knowing that—yeah, Magnus bit harder, chewing at Rolf's ear in revenge as Rolf half-laughed, half-yelped at the twinge of pain.</p><p>"Of who? Verde? You're kidding me," he scoffed.</p><p>Where had he picked up dishonesty, anyway? Rolf barely talked, had Magnus picked it up from him somehow anyway? Or maybe that was just how he had been, was a part of his personality.</p><p>"'Course, that was stupid. My little king never gets jealous." Rolf grinned and Magnus pulled away to glare at him. But Magnus still leaned in to kiss him, so he couldn't be all that miffed. He did <em>bite</em>, though, sweeter and softer than his chewing at Rolf's ear, testing his lower lip with his teeth. Magnus's hand trailed down his neck to his chest, palm flattening there and fingers pressing in tightly through the fabric of his shirt.</p><p>...Hm?</p><p>His chest felt abruptly cooler. When Rolf pulled away from their kiss with a gasp and looked down, he saw Magnus had gotten two of his shirt buttons open. Magnus had the audacity to wear an expression that said <em>what? you got something to say?</em> and open up the third button without hesitation as Rolf watched wide-eyed, blushing.</p><p>"Gotta go back to work?" Rolf tried.</p><p>"Huh. Thought you were all done that job now," Magnus muttered, shifting his hand to get things out of the way. The bowls from lunch, the wrappings, Magnus industriously moved them all out of the way before single-mindedly working at the rest of Rolf's shirt buttons.</p><p>"I got other work."</p><p>Magnus leaned in and licked his collarbone and Rolf jumped.</p><p>"Forget about it," he said insolently, "I've got things I need you to do now."</p><p>...They'd never get the few extra funds to travel to the festival like this, he wanted to tell Magnus. But Magnus was distracting and the thoughts of Magnus getting jealous over <em>him </em>were enough that he felt particularly amenable to anything that Magnus wanted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Diamonds & Toads: Bonus Short II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he came into being, he knew that he was ‘different’ from other snakes.</p><p>He knew it intrinsically, viscerally, knew deep down in his stomach, in every single scale on his body that snakes did not think the way he thought. They did not realise their situation the way that he did, swiftly and sharply, and they did not look at a beaten, bruised human and think ‘how pitiful’.</p><p>He thought he sensed violence in the man, hatred, when he neared him and touched his tongue to his cheek. He tasted of sweat, of exhaustion, of the grime of more than one night’s outside. He looked at the man and the man looked back, evaluating him, perhaps, a unfathomable loneliness and aching need in his gaze—</p><p>Perhaps seeing something in him the snake knew that he himself possessed. He didn’t fight the man’s hand and soon he would learn his name:</p><p><em>Rolf</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Initially, it had been pity. That had been the sensation that moved him to act as he saw the man laying, beaten and bruised, face covered with filth. He <em>pitied</em> this poor, pathetic human, he saw in him not an enemy or a threat like the men who he had scared away. Yet he had not given up, his attitude was defiant even when he lacked the strength to follow through.</p><p>What a pitiful, pitiable life.</p><p>Rolf worked and toiled, he spat venom without speaking it, his eyes flashing fury and indignation when treated with even the mildest bit of distaste. The snake knew, somehow he knew, that this boy, barely even a man, came from a place of privilege. Where he could triumph and have others listen to him while barely lifting a finger.</p><p>He was stupid. Ignorant. The snake still pitied him.</p><p>But, Rolf would give him his identity.</p><p>“You’re Magnus,” he rasped one evening, making their sleeping space in a densely forested grove. No outsiders would chance upon them here, and no baying of wolves hinted there was danger otherwise. The snake lifted his head and gazed upon Rolf, tongue flitting the air.</p><p>Magnus tasted his name. He liked it. He was Magnus now.</p><p>Magnus—it meant ‘great’, so Rolf had managed to tell him—grew stronger and knew that he was Rolf’s protection. Even as he saw that his once-skinny arms thickened and grew strong, that he no longer wobbled when he worked and his face changed from hateful to neutral, stoic. He was Rolf’s protector, Magnus decided, for Rolf needed one.</p><p>He slept uneasily at night, even when Magnus curled his full bulk around him and stared with luminous eyes at his clenched-up face. His mouth would move soundlessly, protesting horrors new and old, indignities and memories that Magnus knew burned fresh.</p><p>When Rolf awoke one night, saw him watching, his eyes crinkled and his mouth softened into the first tender smile of its like that Magnus had seen.</p><p><em>Ah,</em> the snake thought, <em>I love him.</em></p><p>“Thanks,” Rolf whispered, stroking his head, running his palm down the length of the serpent as his eyes closed. He somehow knew that he was being comforted, Magnus thought, and the love grew. He had a sense that his pity had been changing as of late, but to be <em>in love</em>.</p><p><em>With a fool human, no less,</em> Magnus thought unkindly, but nuzzled his nose into Rolf’s cheek.</p><p>Perhaps it was <em>because</em> he was a fool human and because that foolishness had changed and he’d seen it firsthand.</p><p>Nevertheless, it made it complicated to love someone who could not love you back. To whom you couldn’t speak with.</p><p><em>I wish I could be like you,</em> Magnus began to think.</p><p>How was he supposed to do that?</p><p><em>Snakes can’t become humans,</em> he reprimanded himself flatly, <em>though we shouldn’t be able to come out of a man’s mouth either, yet here I am.</em></p><p>He typically didn’t spent much time waxing over the complexities of his ‘coming into being’. Magnus had decided long ago that magic wasn’t his forte. He instead thought and thought as he rode around Rolf’s shoulders, when he worked or they went about town or when Rolf went to their usual fishing hole to bathe and thoroughly scrub the dirt from in-between Magnus’s scales.</p><p>The snake eyed him and, naturally, Rolf thought nothing of it. He hummed to himself, handling Magnus with affection, no doubt with some mental monologue chugging along. He couldn’t speak more than brief statements at a time though, when he was feeling particularly melancholy, he’d go on soft tirades and put up with the reptiles and amphibians that fell from his mouth.</p><p><em>Musclehead,</em> Magnus named him and, were he able, he might’ve sighed.</p><p>There wasn’t much to be done.</p><p>Here he was, with a pathetic one-sided love for a man who loved him back (though as a companion and pet, not an individual) and no way to solve it. How foolish.</p><p>Magnus might have been the foolish one all along, he realised.</p>
<hr/><p>Magnus did not like Verde. His soft-spoken mannerisms and gentleness rubbed Magnus the wrong way, hilariously. He also thought he was stupid.</p><p>But—he wasn’t jealous or anything.</p><p>Except that he <em>was</em>, no two ways around the fact.</p><p>Verde could talk to Rolf—<em>his</em> Rolf—and get along with him and have Rolf speak back to him. They could hold a conversation, they could understand one another and it roiled in Magnus’s belly. He had no way of expressing such and just clung to Rolf in the ways he could, nuzzling and nestling near to him though the urgency burned like bile through his body.</p><p>“Princes shouldn’t carry heavy stuff around,” Rolf was saying and Magnus’s scales itched as though they were too small for him. His skin felt like it bore down on him, constricting a human form that didn’t exist. When he saw Verde smile, he couldn’t bear it any longer and <em>hissed</em> and pressed his head into Rolf’s cheek to remind him—</p><p><em>I am here. I am here. Do not forget me. I have </em>always<em> been here, you great, stupid fool.</em></p><p>Rolf knew nothing. Magnus felt a great well of despair.</p><p>Should the brothers resolve their curses, then what would become of Magnus?</p><p>
  <em>I don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to leave with him and abandon me.</em>
</p><p>Rolf wouldn’t abandon him, but he could. He could find something—some<em>one—</em>else and live as he never could before.</p><p>The moment he saw the fairy his eyes burned and his body tensed and he <em>hated</em>, so sharp and visceral, blaming her already for the loss of Rolf. My<em> Rolf. Mine, mine, mine, mine.</em></p><p>Magnus would be alone and he was terrified.</p><p>“Do you wish a boon from me? I will reward you, if you so desire,” the fairy was saying. Magnus was crying out softly in his heart, pressing his cheek into Rolf’s, mourning a present that had yet to happen. This was it.</p><p>When Rolf looked at him, Magnus felt a sharp, lurching jolt in him. He stared back at him, stared into his eyes as though he could read Rolf’s mind, trying to discern what that troubled expression meant.</p><p>Rolf offered him to the fairy.</p><p>A boon? For whom?</p><p>For <em>Magnus</em>? But why?</p><p><em>Rolf</em> was cursed. Why on <em>earth</em> would he ask for a boon for <em>Magnus</em>?</p><p>He stared urgently at Rolf, trying to convey that he didn’t need it, all he wanted was to stay with him. Even if he couldn’t say it, his greatest wish was to be by his side. He should wish for his curse to be gone, for a normal life, just so long as he kept Magnus by his side.</p><p>He wished, he wished, he wished.</p><p>When the fairy touched him, his body burned in agony and he writhed, desperate to get back to Rolf, to—</p>
<hr/><p>“How fascinating,” she said, gazing at him with her hand over her mouth.</p><p>Magnus felt strange. All around him was a gauzy, opaque space. He himself didn’t feel like himself and, unbidden, his lips turned into a frown—his lips?</p><p>He stood as a man, a man whom he’d always imagined himself, a man who perhaps Rolf could come to love as that man had always loved him. From far away, from close by, in dreams and in waking, deeply and purely.</p><p>“What,” Magnus spluttered, staring in astonishment at his hands, their pale flesh, his knuckles.</p><p>“This is your wish, is it?” said the fairy, kindly.</p><p>Magnus snapped his gaze up to her face, his mouth dry. His eyes darkened with suspicion and he compressed his lips in a natural gesture—he felt as though this body had always been his own, as comfortable to him as nothing had been before. “What of it?” he said after a long moment, his voice ringing in the opaque space.</p><p>She chuckled gently and her body shifted as he watched. She was human but not so. She was trees, earth, nature, and his suspicion and dislike cooled as he realised she was the earth on which he slithered, the grass he enjoyed draping over, the sunlight on his back.</p><p>“Your friend wished a boon for you,” she said, “and I hadn’t thought this would be your wish but, if this is what you truly want, I shall grant it to you.”</p><p>“What’s the caveat?”</p><p>She smiled again, amused by his newly-hardened tone. “Nothing. A gift offered with conditions isn’t a gift at all, is it?”</p><p>Magnus slowly allowed his tense shoulders to fall and, dropping his eyes, said, “Will he love me?”</p><p>“Oh, my dear.” She sighed. “He <em>loves</em> you, but you know this.”</p><p>“Not the way I love him,” Magnus asserted firmly, lifting his face, his cascade of hair sweeping against his back, his cheeks. “Will he love me the way I love him?”</p><p>“That I cannot answer,” the fairy said gently and he bit his lip. “But I don’t see a resourceful, determined snake like yourself letting something like that stop you. Will it?”</p><p>Magnus knew his answer already, probably the moment she had whisked him into this place devoid of time, devoid of presence except their two. He looked down at his palms and thought about taking Rolf’s hands, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath. “It won’t.”</p><p>When his eyes opened next, they blazed and a strong determination filled his chest.</p><p>“All right. Give me your gift, and—and give him back to me.”</p><p>“As you wish,” the fairy said.</p><p>The space, the world without Rolf, it all faded away and Magnus hoped (beyond hope) that when Rolf saw him, he would accept him.</p><p>And that, Rolf did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Black Jackal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was definitely the one i had most difficulty with... in the end i don't know if i gave jackal and surna enough time but, reading it now, i like it more than i did when i first wrote it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Once upon a time, there were three princes. The eldest was Surna, calm and noble. He was a stellar example of a prince and bore the pride of one as well. The middle son was Emperim, cool-headed and logical with little sense of humour. And the youngest was the playful and inquisitive Alfen, who wished to travel the world and experience something</em> more <em>for himself.</em></p>
<p>"<em>Have a care you don't wind up at the bottom of a well," Surna often warned him. "You'</em><em>r</em><em>e a tad too adventurous for your own good."</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Their father was an overly proud man who waffled over naming a successor. All assumed it would be the capable Surna until, one day, their father declared that he would make whomever could bring him the finest dog in all the lands his successor.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Father, you are growing too old for pets," Emperim said logically, "not to mention your back. I do not think you would be able to walk it or play with it."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I know that," the king grumbled in embarrassment. "Stop harping and just go do it! You have a year."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Privately, all three of them thought that it would hardly take a year for them to find a dog, but they took it as a mission of sorts. Perhaps a chance to finally get away from the castle walls. Surna found himself a dog from one of the most renowned breeders in all the lands. It was a sleek and huge beast, yet mild-mannered and tame, keeping to Surna's side even without a lead. He felt confident in his victory, for even Emperim glanced with envy at his dog, until his youngest brother arrived with an acorn in hand.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They thought to laugh, at first, until a little dog leapt from the acorn and did a jig for their father.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"What," Surna and Emperim said as one.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Alfen beamed proudly as his father declared him the winner.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I think that magic is cheating," Emperim said severely.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Surna agreed but didn't think it too sporting to rain on his brother's parade. In the end, it hardly even mattered for their father hadn't finished making challenges for them yet. He told them that next he wanted them to find the finest fabric in all the lands for him.</em>
</p>
<p><em>"I think that you have enough clothing, Father. You already have an extra bedroom for all of your clothes," Surna told him and he turned beet red and roared at them to just</em> go and do it<em>.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Surna shrugged and did so with his hound loyally following at his side, seeking out the finest fabric eagerly with only a few sparing thoughts toward what his young brother might produce this time. He sent letters by mail and by bird, inspecting each of the fabrics he went to find, consulting experts in every way that he knew how. When he returned he was the one to look in envy at Emperim's fabric, for he had brought the most delicate, gossamer of fabric that even Surna had to acknowledge was a grade above his own. Then their youngest brother arrived with a walnut in hand.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Oh, not this again," Emperim muttered.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Alfen opened the walnut and revealed a hazelnut, then a cherry stone and, finally, a piece of grain. When he cracked it open, out poured the most beautiful, ethereal piece of fabric that Surna had ever laid his eyes upon.</em>
</p>
<p><em>"Magic is</em> clearly cheating<em>," Emperim said again, gesturing with both hands.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>"I never said it wasn't allowed," said the king brightly, happy with his new acquisitions. Surna suspected he might just be getting them to do his errand work for him and this had nothing to do with succession at all.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Besides, I'm just using what I have," Alfen said. "I mean, you and Surna have all of your knowledge and your connections so I need every little thing I can get in order to win."</em>
</p>
<p><em>"We</em> worked <em>for ours," Emperim growled, his eyes flashing behind his glasses. "We've forged connections and gathered knowledge over years, and your behaviour is disrespectful to all of that—"</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Surna winced, placating him with a hand on his shoulder and a "now, now".</em>
</p>
<p><em>"Either way, boys," the king announced, clapping his hands to get their attention, "there is one more challenge for you all! The winner of this one shall</em> truly <em>receive my throne and all of my lands, my wealth and my power. Whoever returns with the loveliest of all princesses by their side shall be the king."</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Emperim and Surna exchanged a glance but said nothing more. Surely even their brother wouldn't be able to win this challenge with magic. He couldn't pull a princess out of a pine nut—though at the same time, Surna doubted his own capability to find a princess. What's more, it sounded very much like their father expected them to bring a princess back as a... as a...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I am not getting married," Emperim said flatly.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Father, you know I don't like women," Surna added.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"This is kind of soon," Alfen chimed in, though there was a tinge of thoughtfulness that made Surna squint at him.</em>
</p>
<p><em>"You don't have to</em> marry <em>them, lords and gods and all kings above," the king said, burying his face in one hand. "Consider it a beauty contest."</em></p>
<p>
  <em>"I'm not a good judge of women's beauty," Emperim said.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Nor I," Surna added remorsefully.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Does she have to be human?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Everyone looked at Alfen. Alfen stared back... until red dyed his face from his chin up and he mumbled: "well never mind then".</em>
</p>
<p><em>"Fine. Fine, since you are all going to nitpick—go and find me the most beautiful</em> individual <em>in all of the land and return with them," the king said impatiently. "No, they don't have to be human, yes they can be a man or a they or whatever else. I can't believe the lot of you, I should just adopt someone to take over this throne for all the trouble you give me."</em></p>
<p><em>They'd already tuned him out by then and, apprehensive of the future, Surna set off...<br/><br/><br/></em>What was 'beauty'?</p>
<p>Surna had never been in love before. He had never truly found another being attractive before either, so the task looming before him seemed very large indeed. But he had great misgivings about entrusting the kingdom to either Emperim (who's cool-headed logical nature often overrode his empathy) or Alfen (who lacked experience in responsibility and in staying in <em>one place</em>). He had been brought up his whole life thinking that he would eventually become king. He had trained, he had studied, he had travelled from kingdom to kingdom forging alliances and making friends amongst the royal courts.</p>
<p>Only to have the succession up to a challenge?</p>
<p>"I don't know what to think of it, Tiar," Surna told the hound trailing loyally by his side. Ever since he had met the dog, he'd not been able to part with him, he had been so struck with fondness and love. He'd had a fine collar crafted for him out of the fabric he had fetched ("You don't need mine, Father, since Alfen won," Surna told the king when he looked like he was going to jealously keep all three) and a small blanket draped across his back to mark him as a dog belonging to the prince. The dog whuffed and licked his palm and Surna smiled.</p>
<p>He'd never been able to have a pet as a child, being busy with his studies for becoming a king. He'd jealously watched other nobles with their pets or even children running through towns with puppies or cats in their arms.</p>
<p>Though it was for his father's competition, he likely wouldn't have been able to give Tiar up.</p>
<p>"You're the only one who listens to me, can you believe that?" he asked the dog. "How long have I been preparing for the throne? Too long. Yet Father's going to throw it all away for his competitions. I feel like he will keep going with this forever and ever until he has all of the souvenirs that he ever wants, though Mother is going to box him about the ears if he thinks he can take on another wife."</p>
<p>Tiar snuffled.</p>
<p>They were travelling toward the capital city of their fine kingdom, a city called Munsett. Surna travelled there often for his work and for his training, knew the merchants and the higher-ups and it was as good a place as any to start on this nonsense. Truthfully, Surna didn't think that he would win. He didn't know what beauty was. He didn't know what his father was expecting to see from him. For the first time, he felt adrift in a sea of foolishness that could've been easily avoided if his father hadn't gotten it into his head that <em>this</em> was the way to do things.</p>
<p>Who placed that idea there? Not the queen. There was no way she would.</p>
<p>Surna and his mother were very alike, down-to-earth and calm individuals who had certain expectations and expected others to live up to them. Mind, Surna thought himself less strict than his mother, who could have Surna and his brothers quaking in their boots with but a glance, but nevertheless. It was a shame she had been out of the kingdom for the better part of the last two years, which probably didn't help Surna's father's unhinged behaviour.</p>
<p>He sighed, missing her sorely. Surely she would set everything straight once she returned home.</p>
<p>Until then, he was off on another fool's errand.</p>
<p>Munsett was a short trip from his father's castle, set only a bit outside of the city. He could've had his choice of any of the horses from the stables but he thought the prospect of walking to town sounded pleasant, especially on such a fine day. He'd opted for plainclothes, tucking his nobler ones away in the pack on his back. Tiar was the fancier one between the two of them with his expensive collar and the blanket clipped neatly to the collar, swaying on his back. He tended to whine without it, so Surna left him it.</p>
<p>He could see the great main gates of the city. Munsett had once, like many other cities in this region, been a trading town. People came to hawk their wares, trade their goods and to make their livings. There was a road that connected Munsett to the port city of Lensic, where much of the business and the travelers came from. Surna himself had spent a lot of time with both cities as he familiarised himself with the way the traders, merchants, ship staff and other people made their living. He had a few ships himself that he managed that traveled back and forth, trading overseas and then bringing back coveted exotic goods from the far continents.</p>
<p>He felt at ease more in the cities than in his father's grand palace, but he didn't feel comfortable in many places lately.</p>
<p>Frowning incredulously at his own thoughts, Surna shook his head in hard jerks and combed his palm over his short black hair. "Tiar," he said to his dog, "I think I'm going to need a vacation after this. Two years of straight working without a break in-between has not been conducive to my health."</p>
<p>Tiar wagged his tail.</p>
<p>"Indeed. I can see you and I, my friend, on a nice beach. No Emperim, no Alfen, no Father—maybe Mother. And Ancie." Surna's only cousin on his mother's side was a precocious but business-minded young lady, who he enjoyed having lengthy discussions with. "Myself, you, Mother and Ancie. We'll go vacationing and not invite anyone else, and it will be exquisite."</p>
<p>He scooped Tiar's front paws up to jig with him in the middle of the road. The dog put up with it, albeit with a long-suffering expression.</p>
<p>"Even if it does turn out Alfen becomes king," Surna said brightly, swallowing his dismay.</p>
<p>Tiar licked his face and he squawked, releasing his front paws to wipe the saliva from his skin.</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you very much, my friend. Just what I needed."</p>
<p>Tiar wagged his tail some more with his chin lifted proudly, and Surna sighed. He forced the gloomy thoughts away, focusing on the present. He had a year, at the very least. It was just his first day, it would be disgraceful to go moping around and dragging his heels and he pictured Ancie rolling her eyes at him for such behaviour. For now, he would take it one step at a time and the first step: comb Munsett to see if he may find an individual of peerless beauty.</p>
<p>Again, the problem circled around to the concept of <em>beauty</em>. There were individuals of all sorts in Munsett. Not solely humans, of course, they had elves and gnomes, sharp-eyed goblins hawking with buyers to gain the very best price for their goods. When the sun fell, those people more comfortable in the dark came out. Vampires, ghouls, owlmen with twisting heads and unblinking yellow eyes. More types of people than he could count and he had studied extensively on cultures.</p>
<p>No matter how aesthetically beautiful, no matter how buttery or smooth the voices he overheard, nothing had struck him yet. He was certain if he asked some of these beautiful individuals they may take him up on the offer to bring them before his father, to present them as the most beautiful individual in all of the lands. But he hadn't. Something stopped him every time he saw an individual who could fit the criteria.</p>
<p>Perhaps he was lacking heart.</p>
<p>...Perhaps the whole affair was stupid. Maybe that was why. The whole thing was ridiculous and getting more ridiculous the more he thought about it.</p>
<p>Rather, had their father been drunk? Was that why? Perhaps there was some dangerous new drug making the rounds and someone had been poisoning his father step by step. Father had always been, er, impulsive but never with such an important matter. What's more, he had wasted almost three years on the whole charade! Surely he had better uses to put them to? Goodness, Surna and Emperim were well-trained princes, they ought to be off forging alliances or stopping wars or starting wars (Surna didn't like that idea, best to put it out of mind) or literally <em>anything</em> else that would be more productive. Oh, certainly, dog breeders had been very pleased when Surna showed such interest, and the same with those who made fabrics, but that was such a small portion of the populace that it seemed ridiculous.</p>
<p><em>He's getting older,</em> Surna thought as he walked down the cool evening streets of Munsett, <em>perhaps he is ill in the head? Older people are known to lose some of their wits, I suppose.</em></p>
<p>No, he would amend that. His mother's wit had only grown over the years.</p>
<p>
  <em>Father's enjoying himself too much. I should send a letter to Mother and tell her about what's been going on. Then Father can cease with this ridiculous activity and do something productive instead.</em>
</p>
<p>Heartened by his choice, he patted Tiar's head and began to stride back toward the inn he was staying at—</p>
<p>Or, he would have had he not caught the sound of a commotion.</p>
<p>Munsett was a remarkably peaceful city, he thought. There was law enforcement because of course there was, and such a large city with an abundance of riches was bound to draw unsavoury sorts. Hearing that kind of commotion in the still-early evening was really strange, and he set his hand upon the hilt of the sword at his hip as he turned toward it.</p>
<p><em>Rushing into danger is a bit unwise, however,</em> Surna thought as he did it anyway.</p>
<p>He had Tiar, at least. And an almost two hundred pound animal with a mouthful of sharp teeth and a powerful jaw was quite a deterrent.</p>
<p>He slipped into an alleyway, down another, following the commotion. He quickly made out jeers, insults, though ones he had never heard before. He frowned at the use of the term <em>dog</em> and sped up instinctively, telling Tiar to <em>sit</em> when they had come close to the source of the commotion. Surna crept down the alley and peeked carefully around one of the stone walls.</p>
<p>Three men of the typically evil, unsavoury variety had their backs turned to Surna. They had cornered someone in the back of the alleyway and Surna scowled at such a predictable modus operandi. He slid his sword free carefully, tip-toeing his way into the alleyway and closer to the large men. When he was close enough, he gently pressed the tip of the blade into the small of one of their backs.</p>
<p>The man froze.</p>
<p>"If you don't like being stabbed through," Surna said quietly, "I advise you leave."</p>
<p>When the man moved, he pressed harder, though his companions quickly whipped around. Surna whistled two times, sharply, from the corners of his mouth and Tiar appeared like a hound from hell at the alley opening.</p>
<p>Predictably, they scrambled to run when a vicious snarl echoed through the alley and Tiar approached with his mouth open, teeth glistening.</p>
<p>One of them got a snap at their back for their trouble but Surna sheathed his sword with an approving hum and turned back to the poor person who they had chased back here.</p>
<p>The alley's light was dim but he saw right away the person's inhuman features. Instead of the head of a man, they had one of a dog—no, not a dog. He'd seen creatures of that kind before... jackal, yes, a jackal. A long snout, two sharp, triangular ears, and two gold eyes staring unblinkingly up at Surna. The fur was black, so black he could barely make out a nose or a mouth but it certainly made the eyes pop. When he glanced briefly down, he saw a muscular body in plainclothes, sleeves pushed up over muscular forearms, similarly covered with black fur. Each of his fingers was topped with a curved, wicked nail, same for the toes on his bare feet.</p>
<p>Remarkable. Stunning.</p>
<p><em>Beautiful,</em> Surna thought.</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" he asked, offering his hand to the beastman.</p>
<p>The beastman's snout wrinkled, the skin and fur bunching up, and it was terribly cute.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" he asked in a low, suspicious voice. He shifted his hands and pushed himself upright with a small stagger (evidently the men had been kicking him judging by the bootprints on his shirt), and he greatly loomed over Surna. Surna was no short man, but this one had him beat. He even had to tilt up his chin to stare up at him.</p>
<p>"Surna," he replied, hand still extended... he dejectedly dropped it, just to have Tiar bathe it with his tongue. He grimaced down at the dog but patted his head thankfully as Tiar sat next to Surna's feet.</p>
<p>He studied the jackal man again quickly, unable to understand why he'd been being beaten up. He was obviously muscular under his clothes, he was tall, he could've been intimidating if Surna wasn't so enamoured with how beautiful he was, the glossy shine of his black fur or the long, whip-like tail that stuck out stiffly behind him.</p>
<p>"Name doesn't tell me who you are," the jackal man said sourly.</p>
<p>"I apologise. Surna, first prince of Hastier," he said, shifting his hand to show the jackal man his signet ring. "Again, I must ask, are you all right? There's a healer not far from here." He had a hard time telling if the man had bruises, though he must underneath all of his dark fur.</p>
<p>The jackal man barked an incredulous sound. "The first prince roams in alleyways?"</p>
<p>"Just when I hear commotions."</p>
<p>"You must spend all your damned time in alleyways, then."</p>
<p><em>Oh, he's funny,</em> Surna thought, endeared.</p>
<p>He smiled and it evidently wasn't what the jackal man was expecting because he blinked, wrinkled his nose again and twitched his pointy ears back on his skull.</p>
<p>"More than I was ever expecting to," Surna cheerfully said. "At any rate, your name? And your condition? I really am worried about your injuries."</p>
<p>"I'm fine," the jackal man said. "Stop haranguing."</p>
<p>Surna folded his arms over his chest. "You keep answering one question but not the other."</p>
<p>"You ask too many questions at once."</p>
<p>"Fair enough." Surna shrugged, offering his hand to the jackal man with a friendly smile. "Then, no more questions. You can tell me your name whenever you wish. And for the time being, we'll go to the healer."</p>
<p>The jackal man opened his mouth as though to protest, but Surna had already turned by then. He felt... odd. Light. Like he was walking on clouds or something as foolish as that. He wanted to keep looking back at the jackal man, see if his fur changed in the light, see his eyes, and he had the sudden revelation that—</p>
<p>
  <em>He would be perfect to bring back for this foolish competition!</em>
</p>
<p>Yes! Yes, he would. Surna's heart raced. However, what was the best way to go about it?</p>
<p>He thought deeply about it as he led the jackal man (surprisingly still following) through the alleys back where he had come, to the small healer's building not far from there. He was still thinking about it as the jackal man got tended to, grumbling all the while, by the healer who made him daub ointment on his stomach and his chest and his arms. He grumbled even more when Surna paid for the cost of the medicine and walked with him out of the healer's, still contemplating how to approach the matter.</p>
<p>Well. Surna had always favoured honesty. So he invited the jackal man to dinner.</p>
<p>"What? Why?"</p>
<p><em>What, why,</em> was admittedly not the best reaction Surna had ever received to a dinner invitation from him. Not that he made them that often for just the pleasure of dining with someone else.</p>
<p>"I would like someone to dine with," he said hopefully. "Tiar is wonderful company, but he can't talk to me. So, if you have the time and you're not unwilling, I would like your company. Besides, I haven't heard about how you wound up in that situation earlier."</p>
<p>"What's there to tell? I got cornered by some thugs," said the jackal man, shrugging, but his eyes flitted away as though suddenly unable to hold eye contact. Surna wondered about it as he wondered about him, wondered even more about himself and how much he wanted to know this man. Was this what his romantic youngest brother called love at first sight? He wasn't sure, he hadn't a desire to launch himself into the jackal man's arms but he certainly wanted to speak to him, understand what he could.</p>
<p>"Dinner?" Surna prompted again.</p>
<p>The jackal man grumbled and huffed but he at last nodded.</p>
<p>The restaurant that he brought the jackal man (herefore called Jackal) to was not too upscale.</p>
<p>Surna doubted Jackal wanted to go to a restaurant that was too fancy, that would make him feel out of place in his clothing of the working class. Surna too had no desire to fuss about what piece of cutlery he was going to eat with, so they settled in at a comfortable, cozy restaurant. He tried to engage Jackal in talks about the food, but the man's words were halting and suspicious still, and he kept looking over at Surna in the same way that Tiar had looked at him when he said that he had to stay outside.</p>
<p>Doubting. Uncertain. <em>Surely you don't mean that,</em> so on and so forth.</p>
<p>Comparing Jackal to his dog wasn't polite, Surna told himself. Not even in his head.</p>
<p>Jackal ate a forkful of food, bite by bite, teeth sharp and shining white. They were as stark as his gold eyes were, so too his bright red tongue.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was the contrast that was beautiful, Surna thought, studying Jackal in-between bites and sips of his dinner and drink. The way that Jackal's eyes popped, the vivid shade, or maybe it was his grace despite his height.</p>
<p>Speaking of.</p>
<p>"I'm surprised that anyone would try to corner you," Surna said with a thoughtful frown. Jackal looked sharply at him, narrowing his eyes. "I mean, you're so <em>tall</em>. I know I wouldn't attempt to rob or hassle anyone who was as tall as you were."</p>
<p>Jackal's tight grip on his knife and fork relaxed and he snorted through his nose. "They had numbers. Size don't matter if you've got the confidence of being in a group," he drawled.</p>
<p>"I suppose so. Nevertheless... are you a merchant? Or a trader?"</p>
<p>"I work on the docks. Sometimes I come to the city to help load up supplies," Jackal said.</p>
<p>"You would think thugs would target a merchant or trader," Surna said with a sigh. "After all, they usually are more obvious about their wealth, if they are well off. Mind, they do generally hire muscle or bodyguards, but some are careless in that way."</p>
<p>A silence fell between them and Surna got the vague sense he had said something wrong. He looked anxiously to Jackal, who stared down at his food. His snout wasn't wrinkled up, but that was almost more concerning.</p>
<p>"It's 'cause of how I look. This ain't the first time something like this has happened, it's been happening since I was just a brat," Jackal said, voice lowered into a growl. He put down his fork and knife and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He stared down his nose at Surna, his ears flattened back again, a curl to his upper lip. "You can't be that damn oblivious. I don't know what kind of game you're playing with all this, but I don't trust you any more than I would some damn thug. You're probably just playing around, and you should know I'm not gonna fall for it."</p>
<p>Fall for what, exactly?</p>
<p>Surna placed his cutlery down as well, leaning back in his chair the same as Jackal. He looked at him again, but couldn't see what about his appearance could prompt aggression. Certainly, Surna had never seen a beastman such as him, but he had seen them before in his travels. Jackal was especially beautiful and he couldn't get that in particular out of his head. Did that make him strange? Alfen had been the one to ask about non-humans, but here Surna was.</p>
<p>"You're right that I did have an ulterior motive, of a kind," Surna began slowly and decided to be honest and upfront. "My father, the king, is putting myself and my two brothers through ridiculous challenges. For the one we have now, he bade us not to return unless we had the most beautiful individual by our sides."</p>
<p>Jackal's expression quickly changed to bewildered, his head cocking, his ears lifting back up. No, he visibly didn't understand where it was going at all.</p>
<p>"When I saw you, I thought that you must be the most beautiful person in the whole world." Surna tightened his hands on the arm of the chair briefly, embarrassed, but continued, "I hoped you would come back with me to the castle when the time comes. Of course, I'm asking you a favour so you're free to refuse it, but I just thought that about you when I saw you. I thought that maybe you could come back with me to my villa in Lensic and we could while away a year there until it's time to see my father."</p>
<p>Jackal didn't say anything.</p>
<p>For a long time, in fact.</p>
<p>Minutes stretched by in eternity while Surna waited for his reaction, a <em>yay</em> or a <em>nay</em> to his request. Jackal kept staring at him.</p>
<p>Eventually, Surna awkwardly cleared his throat and said again, "You're free to refuse...?"</p>
<p>"No," said Jackal, "I was waiting for the joke. The punchline. You called me beautiful. Your dad wants to see the most beautiful person in "all the lands", probably, and you're asking me? You're joking."</p>
<p>Surna's face grew warm and he fidgeted. "I don't see what's so hard to believe," he said petulantly, casting his eyes over Jackal's face again. "Shall I describe to you why I think so?"</p>
<p>"That should be good. Go ahead."</p>
<p>Surna took a deep breath, cast his mind back to when he first laid eyes on Jackal and the thoughts that rushed through him and began: "Well, first of all, your dark fur is so smooth and velvety. It shines in the light. And it makes your eyes so much more vibrant, it's impossible not to stare into them. Your snout is shaped beautifully and the eye cannot help but be drawn to your mouth when you talk, for the colour one sees when you do fascinates the eye. This is only your face, you understand, but I'll continue if you wish. Your neck—"</p>
<p>"S<em>top,"</em> Jackal strangled out. "Stop, what are you— what— that's stupid. <em>You're</em> stupid."</p>
<p>"I'm not stupid. It's what I think."</p>
<p>"Who thinks that? No-one. I'm a monstrous mutt from across the ocean," Jackal hissed.</p>
<p>"You're a jackal, actually, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that," Surna muttered, sparing a thought to how strange it was to have an argument with a person trying to make them understand that they were beautiful. He was certain he had never done anything stupider, and he was a prince who had to interact with some of the most ridiculous nobles on the planet.</p>
<p>Jackal paused, his ears twitching. "You know what I am."</p>
<p>"Of course I do. I have to work in many different places. I've never met a jackal beastman, but I've at least seen a jackal."</p>
<p>Jackal's hands reached for his fork and knife and he set to sawing at his food once more. He frowned at his food, lost in thought, and Surna left him be as he helped himself to the remainder of his meal. The disappointment was heavy in his chest, the pit of his stomach, but he swallowed it down and reasoned that he'd been polite and phrased his request appropriately rather than being uptight or demanding Jackal accompany him back to the king's castle. He doubted he would ever find someone as beautiful as Jackal so he wondered if he ought to give up the competition here.</p>
<p>Sighing, he finished the food and gazed out of the windows at the streets of the city at night.</p>
<p>"...So, what would you want me to do at your villa?"</p>
<p>Surna snapped his attention to Jackal so fast he hurt his neck. "What?" he squeaked.</p>
<p>"You said you'd want me to come to your villa," Jackal said, wrinkling his snout. "So. What would I do there?"</p>
<p>"I— nothing? I mean. You would be a guest, so whatever you liked," he spluttered. "There's plenty to do in the city though it's rather quiet at the villa, there's a full staff who would make meals for us and attend to the cleaning and so on so there's... I wouldn't want you to work or anything?"</p>
<p>"Huh."</p>
<p>Jackal fell into a speculative silence and Surna wondered if not all hope was lost after all.</p>
<p>Reasonably, he should be more cautious about it. However, he couldn't help that he wanted to get to know Jackal, wanted to see him relaxing at the villa, be able to speak with him over dinner. He pushed any ideas of a romantic dalliance out of his head, firmly telling himself that he could and would be satisfied with friendship no matter how attractive he might've found Jackal. Attractiveness didn't equal love, after all, else... okay, so Surna probably would've never entered into any relationships before this considering how he hardly ever found anyone particularly attractive to him, but still.</p>
<p>"...I still don't know if I can really trust this," Jackal said eventually, "but all right. I guess I can give it a try. Guess you're probably no more dangerous than your average thug."</p>
<p>That wasn't a compliment, but Surna would take it.<br/><br/></p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>The villa wasn't far from the coast. Given that he had company with him, Surna requested a carriage and everyone was oh-so-eager to comply with a request from the prince. Jackal was obviously perturbed by the sheer wealth of everything that was going on but, after contacting his current employer, he came along willingly enough. He was quiet most of the trip despite Surna's eagerness to get him to talk... and Surna reassured himself that eventually, he might come around. Hopefully.</p>
<p>It had been such a long time since he had some pleasant conversation with someone not his brothers. His brothers were... as they were, and Surna's friends were few outside of his family. His preoccupations with his training and studying didn't exactly give him a lot of time to run around the grounds or to find other children to make friends with. And now that he was an adult it was mostly business, business, business.</p>
<p>And the occasional proposal that was quickly and promptly turned down.</p>
<p>Mostly because they came from women. Surna didn't know how his preferences weren't common knowledge by this point but oh well.</p>
<p>The villa came into view after an excruciatingly quiet couple of hours of travel from Munsett. It was located just outside of the port city proper, along a long road framed by huge trees. Tiar barked excitedly, his tail wagging as he poked his head out of the carriage window and <em>that</em> finally elicited a reaction from Jackal: he barked a laugh and looked out where Tiar was.</p>
<p>"He must like it here," Jackal noted.</p>
<p>"Of course. He's spoiled rotten whenever he's here. And... I brought him up here, from the time I got him as a puppy."</p>
<p>Jackal's pointed ear twitched as he looked with curiosity at Surna. "Oh yeah?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Despite how grand Tiar grew up, I didn't win the competition he was originally intended for. I think Father secretly wanted a small dog." Also, Alfen had brought him a magical dancing dog. But he didn't need to mention that. "I didn't expect him to get so large, he was so <em>small</em> when I first got him. Then he became enormous, as you see."</p>
<p>Tiar's tail was wagging furiously and he whined excitedly, scratching the carriage door until Surna clucked his tongue to quell him. Tiar sat but his nose was still level with the window and he was obviously waiting eagerly for them to pull up to the front.</p>
<p>"Well, seems like he likes you," Jackal replied. "You brought him up well enough. I always see dogs who lash out 'cause of the people who raised them. Some people raise them to lash out, bah."</p>
<p>"That I can't understand. I value him as a companion and, yes, he would protect me, but he need not be aggressive."</p>
<p>The carriage slowed to a stop and Tiar whined loudly. Surna sigh-laughed, standing and letting him out and the huge, dark dog leapt from the carriage and sprinted full tilt toward the front door. Surna heard giddy squeals as Tiar tackled, no doubt, the servants who were just as important to him from his time as a puppy... and probably knocking them over in the process.</p>
<p>"Come on," Surna said, descending the few steps to the ground. "I'm eager to show you around."</p>
<p>Surna just hoped that he liked it. It wasn't as garish and overbearing as some royal villas, but it was home and he loved it as his home. He wasn't certain if Jackal realised that it was his home and that he spent more time here than anywhere else, or if Jackal thought that he spent all of his days in the castle. Living out his princely life.</p>
<p>Probably, right? But Jackal hadn't asked him much about himself.</p>
<p>It was a little... disheartening, to say the least. He wondered again if he'd strong-armed the man into coming here against his will. But Jackal didn't seem the type to be forced into anything that he wasn't at least a little interested in, so Surna pushed those thoughts out of his head. Thoughts of how he wasn't exactly thinking as much about the competition as he was getting to know Jackal remained, though. He was very, very aware of those.</p>
<p>He showed Jackal around the entirety of the villa, save the servant's quarters. The gardens, the small pond out back, the rooms where hopefully he might be able to find some entertainment. There was a games room, mostly for the use of the servants after a long day's work, with all manner of card and board games that Surna had collected on his travels. There was a study with several shelves full of assorted novels, a kitchen that they were almost immediately chased out of by the severe cook who told them that dinner was a surprise and to not come back again!</p>
<p>"Friendly bunch," Jackal remarked as they finished the last leg of the tour. "Didn't expect servants of a prince to be so free with their words."</p>
<p>"Well, most of them knew me since I was a baby, so the glamour goes out of the whole <em>prince</em> title."</p>
<p>Jackal snorted, corners of his mouth tugging upward in a smile that made Surna catch his breath. "Guess so. They're not used to you bringing back someone with you, obviously."</p>
<p>Surna blushed, looking away. During the tour there had been several sneaky or excited little comments about how Surna had finally brought back someone with him. Yes, it was a beastman, but the staff were almost as worldly as Surna when it came to travelling and studying. There wasn't that much else to do once all of the work of the day was completed, and Surna had encyclopaedias galore.</p>
<p>"Don't mind them," he mumbled, embarrassed. "They know about my Father's competition. I'd imagine they're surprised I've even found an individual at all, never you mind this soon."</p>
<p>Jackal cocked his head thoughtfully. "Why's that?"</p>
<p>"I'm not exactly—" Surna waffled, waving his hand in a jerky manner. "I appreciate that there are many beautiful individuals in the world of all kinds, but I myself have never found one singular person a cut above the rest."</p>
<p>"Probably because you're so damned pretty yourself," Jackal said dryly.</p>
<p>Surna nearly walked into the corner, hands shooting out to catch himself at the last moment. Jackal coughed, turning his face away and rubbing his knuckle against the corner of his mouth with an apologetic mutter. "I d-don't," he stammered, "think that's quite it, though thank you very much for saying so."</p>
<p>"You waxed poetic about how I look, so. Me saying you're pretty is small in comparison."</p>
<p>...Had it been waxing poetic? It might have been. That was slightly embarrassing in retrospect. Too late now.</p>
<p>"It's big to me," Surna said with all the dignity he could muster. Jackal gave him a sideways look with a quirk of his mouth and Surna gestured forward. "Let's just finish the tour, shall we?"</p>
<p>"Sure, sure," Jackal said, failing to cover his laughter.<br/><br/></p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>Days passed. Every morning they ate breakfast together, then lunch, then supper.</p>
<p>Some days Jackal skipped a meal, some days Surna skipped a meal, taking full advantage of the time to sleep in late and resist rising until it was at <em>least</em> noon. Jackal made fun of him those days, comments about he was sure princes weren't supposed to be snoozing all of their time away. Surna tried not to let on how much he enjoyed the teasing, the evidence that Jackal was growing comfortable with him.</p>
<p>At least a little.</p>
<p>Jackal had still yet to give him his real name and wasn't forthcoming on what he had been through up until this point. He made a vague allusion to the fact that he mostly worked on docks and had done so for much of his life, but he hadn't elaborated beyond that and Surna was loath to press such an individual who clearly wasn't ready to share. Instead, Surna did as much sharing as he could, eventually allowing himself to complain to Jackal.</p>
<p>"Magical dogs and magical fabric, huh," Jackal said with his lip curling in disbelief.</p>
<p>"That is exactly the reaction that Emperim and I had," Surna replied dejectedly. "I am all right with a fair competition with brothers and I would surrender the throne if I must, but even I doubt how fair it is to use magic. It makes me worry for the state of this country if Alfen were to become king. I would hope he wouldn't solve all of his problems with magic, but..."</p>
<p>Jackal shrugged his shoulders slightly, hand cupping his chin. "Maybe he's got some more to it that you don't know about yet," he said. "More secrets? A good reason? I don't know, but something more than him just trying to get ahead."</p>
<p>"I hope so. At the very least, I would be content if he planned and researched and procured such magic all on his own rather than... well."</p>
<p>"Well, what?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. I worry he's obtained it from some sorceress. Maybe he's being held now against his will. He could be a helpless hostage."</p>
<p>Jackal scratched his chin with the tip of one long, black claw. "If he is, then it's his own fault, wouldn't you say? You might be his big brother, but you don't gotta be his keeper."</p>
<p>Surna opened his mouth to protest but Jackal shot him a look. A look that told him to<em> think about it</em>.</p>
<p>For his whole life, though, Surna had always looked out for his brothers. Emperim had grown up responsible enough, but Alfen was always reckless and diving straight into things. Surna was certain he had to be there for him, watching over him, but Alfen had always rebuffed that and gone off on his own, charging into what he called an adventure.</p>
<p>"I'm the eldest brother," he said at last. "It's part of it, I suppose... to worry about my brothers."</p>
<p>"All the time," Jackal noted with a smirk curving his lips.</p>
<p>"I mean, I let them go off on their own for years at a time, don't I?" Surna fussed, folding his arms, his foot wagging in the air.</p>
<p>"Hmm."</p>
<p>He didn't appreciate Jackal's ribbing, though he didn't do much to discourage besides glare half-heartedly at him.</p>
<p>It was nice to have Jackal joking around with him. Surna tended to watch him even when they were apart, hyper-aware of the fact that his crush was growing to ridiculous proportions. Jackal would lounge in chairs around the villa, his whip-like tail wagging peacefully as he read a book or simply lay there with his eyes closed, his face tipped up to the sunlight.</p>
<p>The weather was wonderful while they were there. Surna slightly resented it, wanting rain so he had an excuse to keep Jackal inside with him, maybe he could even get closer to him, settle at his side and cover them both with a blanket.</p>
<p>Ah. His ulterior motive had entirely changed, hadn't it?</p>
<p>It wasn't about the competition at all anymore. He thought that it hadn't been about the competition for a long time. Jackal was cool and calm, sarcastic and scathing at times, but Jackal smiled when he saw Surna doing something, he played with Tiar when no-one (he thought) was looking. Jackal was wonderful and Surna didn't know what past he'd had to have made him so averse to believing he was beautiful, but it was unacceptable.</p>
<p>He wanted to make Jackal feel happy, content, as beautiful as Surna thought that he was. The rapidly approaching deadline of the competition always played in the back of his mind, a time limit for the two of them. After it... what reason would Jackal have to stay here? Yes, the villa was leisurely and comfortable and he was oddly suited to it after he got past the first two awkward months, but...</p>
<p><em>'I would like you to stay with me, forever,'</em> Surna thought. He could not say so.</p>
<p>He craved more knowledge about him. What was his real name? Where did he grow up? He had alluded to a few bits and pieces over time, so now Surna knew that he'd had siblings that he was no longer close to. He knew that he lived in a town across the ocean, no, a village a little ways from that town. But that was it. He didn't seem inclined to talk about it and perhaps he never would. Perhaps it wasn't as important as Surna thought that it was.</p>
<p>He brooded over quite a few things.<br/><br/></p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>“Cousin, I have heard the most <em>outrageous</em> rumours of—” Ancie, Surna’s precious cousin, stopped mid-speech as she stared into the room at the situation she had burst in upon. Surna’s expression brightened with delight at once, a wide smile on his face and Jackal, who had been playing a game of chaturanga with him, froze stiff. “All right, I see that they’re all true.”</p>
<p>“It’s so good to see you, cousin,” Surna gushed as he leapt to his feet, extending his arms. Ancie, squinting at the beastman behind him, allowed herself to be embraced, straightening her headscarf when they parted and exhaling a disbelieving sigh. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared dinner properly!”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Ancie muttered absently.</p>
<p>Jackal, evidently sensing they’d be getting back to catur no time soon, grumbled something and stood. He slid his palm along the back of his neck, head cocked in a gesture Surna quickly recognised as discomfort.</p>
<p>“Ancie, this is— ah, this is my companion of whom you’ve heard.”</p>
<p>Surna had no name to give her and his lips briefly tightened in discomfort. Jackal rubbed harder at his neck and approached, clearing his throat gruffly and offering a large, clawed hand to her.</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you,” he said gruffly.</p>
<p>“... Pleasure’s all mine,” she said after a moment, taking his hand and clasping it firmly. Too firmly, perhaps, though Surna didn’t notice.</p>
<p>“I heard you’d gotten engaged,” Ancie said and both men choked.</p>
<p>“E-engaged! I, ahaha, what?!” Surna fought to calm his racing heart, flattening his hand over his chest. Jackal’s tail whipped furiously and he bore his teeth in a brief, flustered gesture, before scrunching up his snout. “Not at all. I mean, he has generously agreed to accompany me for my father’s absurd competition...”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Ancie frowned then. “That isn’t as fun as I thought. Is it true that you’re living here?”</p>
<p>Jackal stiffened, his tail jerking. “...Yeah.”</p>
<p>Her lips curved into a sly smile. “I see. What do you know about this house?”</p>
<p>Jackal’s nose scrunched in bewilderment but Surna’s heart started to slam violently and he half-stepped toward her, intending to stop her from telling him too much. “I know my way around. I’ve been here for months, after all. Why?”</p>
<p>“So Surna’s never mentioned it’s his home! Not his home-away-from-home, his <em>home-home</em>. Guests <em>never</em> get to stay here unless they’re very, very special.” She clasped her palms, looking smug indeed and Surna wanted to sink into the ground. It wasn’t all that, he wanted to argue, but it was true. This was his <em>home</em>, this was where all of his most precious possessions were, material and non-, memories carved deeply into the walls and floors.</p>
<p>“Princes live in palaces,” Jackal retorted with a soft snort of disbelief.</p>
<p>“Ha! You’d think, wouldn’t you? Surna’s an odd bird that way, aren’t you, my dear?”</p>
<p>Surna glowered, planting his hands on his hips. Ancie, as usual, wasn’t at all thrown and just shook her head. Gathering her skirts with one hand and catching Surna’s arm with the other, she tugged him. “Come now, tell the truth, cousin.”</p>
<p>Jackal had cocked one ear toward him, his gaze bemused, questioning.</p>
<p>“Ah, well,” Surna murmured reluctantly, “it’s true that I love this place very much.”</p>
<p>“Huh.”</p>
<p>It was a rather lacklustre response to his admission. Perhaps Jackal didn’t see the significance in it or realise Surna had laid himself bare the moment he’d invited him. Certainly, if Jackal kept to his own room maybe it would be impersonal, but where in the house hadn’t Surna shown him?</p>
<p>He’d shown him room upon room, rooms with memories, explaining to him his former nursery room, fondly referencing how he’d fashioned it into a nursery for Tiar. Jackal had laughed at him for it, poking fun at him for treating his dog like a baby (but he was a baby, just a big, loveable baby) but he had listened attentively. He’d listened no matter where they went, showing an interest in Surna that no-one had before.</p>
<p>He’d bring it up later, slip things Surna said into conversations and sometimes he thrilled to think <em>oh, he truly pays attention to every thing I say to him</em>. No matter how silly or banal. Of course, Surna latched onto any nugget that pertained to Jackal and who he was.</p>
<p>Ancie was looking from Surna to Jackal and back and, eventually, shook her head. “Men are the slowest animal on the planet,” she said decisively and both men in question reared back their heads indignantly. “Come along, let us have a teatime and you can tell me all about what you two do during your days.”</p>
<p>With that, forceful as always, Ancie pulled him along and Jackal was left to follow in their wake.</p>
<p>If he touched his fingertips to the wall with a new appreciation as they walked, well, who would have seen him?<br/><br/></p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>Jackal paused in the hallway, his pointed ears flicking upward as he was about to pass by the room that Surna used as an office. He peeked inside of it and, through the barely-open door, saw a figure with their head pillowed on their arms, exhausted sleeping breaths filling the room.</p>
<p>Jackal blinked. He'd happened upon Surna dozing off more than once, but it was getting worse these days. Surna seemed quieter than normal as well, not grouchy for when was <em>Surna</em> ever grumpy? But he was withdrawn, vague, preoccupied.</p>
<p>These days he didn't miss a meal with Jackal, though he didn't speak as much.</p>
<p>He was usually quite persistent about that, the speaking. Jackal knew that Surna wanted to know more about him and it was flattering. No-one had ever been so interested in him before. But the problem lay with Jackal himself. His past wasn't a happy one and he would be content if it disappeared forever from his memories. Perhaps one day he would be able to face it, but he doubted it would be anytime soon. But lately... Surna had even stopped with those questions, keeping to small talk, maintaining his soft, friendly tone of voice while his eyes belied tiredness and a distant sadness.</p>
<p>Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness.</p>
<p>Jackal slipped into the office, walking over to Surna's sleeping form.</p>
<p>Leaning over him, he murmured into his ear, "Surna."</p>
<p>He didn't stir. His face was drawn, exhausted, and he breathed in and out deeply, steadily, but with a catch to his breaths at some points. Was he having dreams? His eyelids seemed to twitch, as though his gaze was roving to and fro, staring at something unseen. Jackal frowned and passed his clawed fingers over Surna's short, dark hair, something he wouldn't dare to do while he was awake. Surna didn't make any noise in his sleep but his tense eyebrows eased slightly at Jackal's touch.</p>
<p>It had something to do with the competition, he was sure. He was harbouring some worry he didn't tell Jackal about. Was he worried he wouldn't become king? From what he had heard from the servants and staff, no-one had ever worked harder than Surna. He had been bred and taught since day one with the intention that he would go on to take the throne. He had moulded his life around it. The fact that he picked up Jackal and brought him here was so strange, the servants had told him. But it was good, to see the prince enjoy time so sincerely with someone else, they continued.</p>
<p>Something else, maybe? Surna had talked about his concerns on that point before. Briefly, but Jackal saw a glimpse of what must be a full reservoir of anxiety. But this was different, something that made Surna quiet and melancholic.</p>
<p>Jackal touched the back of his finger to Surna's slack cheek before he leaned over him. He scooped the prince up into his arms, startled at his light weight, and turned to carry him from the room. A servant not far from the door stopped and stared, her mouth shaping an 'o' of surprise until Jackal muttered something in embarrassment about taking the prince to bed.</p>
<p>"Ooh, yes, yes, I see," she tittered and rushed off and Jackal burned under his fur.</p>
<p>Well... he might take him to bed in the other meaning of the word. He'd long since forgotten distrust, had allowed himself to grow fond of Surna, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked, the way he'd make faces when Jackal picked at him, the way he'd touch Jackal unconsciously, thoughtlessly, placing a hand on his arm or his shoulder or otherwise.</p>
<p>His body was warm and soft in his arms, soft as a life of grandeur could only grant him, but Jackal found he didn't linger over that as much as he used to. Surna had never experienced his own types of hardships but he'd experienced his own, hardships different to Jackal's, and that had moulded his mind and his personality.</p>
<p>The prince's bedroom was low-lit and warm, blankets deep crimson and as downy soft as the ones in the room Jackal had gotten used to. It smelled of nag champa, and a cone of the incense still wafted a thin line of smoke in one corner of the room. But the room also smelled of Surna and it flooded Jackal's senses as he shut his eyes for a long moment, breathing in.</p>
<p>The figure in his arms was still yet, sleeping away, and he lowered him gently to place on the bed, covering him with a luxurious blanket.</p>
<p>He looked down at Surna's face as he lingered at his bedside, his fingertips softly grazing the back of Surna's hand, catching on the pads of his fingers. He hoped Surna still found him beautiful. A year was coming up, and once that competition was over with...<br/><br/></p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>Surna thought that the trip back home to the castle would've been filled with more anxiety. That was how his days had been, drowning deep in a black mood that he couldn't escape. But, he found, Jackal in beautiful formal wear was <em>extremely distracting</em>. He wore blues, like Surna did, clothes that fit to his muscular body and that made his black fur look blacker, and his vivid eyes brighter. His fur had been brushed, Surna thought, to a glistening level, even his ears squeaky clean and somehow pointier and softer-looking than always. His teeth, well, they were blinding if he opened his mouth and his claws (when he tapped them against something) clicked and caught the sunlight that poured through the carriage window. They looked like the finest obsidian.</p>
<p>Surna spent the better part of several hours just <em>staring</em> at him.</p>
<p>Jackal kept referencing it too, grumbling, "you know there's perfectly good scenery outside," or "seriously cut it out, your eyes are going to fall clean out of your head". But Surna couldn't stop, he was filled with thoughts about how lovely Jackal was, how he wanted to reach and take his hand and press a kiss to his muzzle. He wanted to <em>propose to him</em>, and wasn't that a ridiculous thought? It likely was, but it was there anyway. Tiar even eyed Surna like <em>he</em> knew his thoughts and was judging him accordingly.</p>
<p>"Look. We're here. You wasted the whole trip staring at me, so keep your eyes on the ground so you don't fall," Jackal huffed, his ears flat with embarrassment, his gaze turned away from Surna.</p>
<p>"Oh... that was quite quick," Surna mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the peek of chest the loose collar of Jackal's shirt revealed. He'd been stubborn on that point. No ties, no cravats, as it 'makes me feel like I'm wearing a collar'. He patted Tiar and stepped out when the door was opened for him, his butterflies returning in full measure as he gazed upon the castle. He still offered a hand backward to Jackal and, unlike their first meeting, he took it as he stepped out of the carriage and stood tall and radiant alongside Surna.</p>
<p>No other carriages, so evidently they were the first to arrive.</p>
<p>"This way..." Surna gestured vaguely and Jackal followed him without complaint into the castle, into the lavish entrance hall, off to a side door that led to a hallway that would loop to the throne room.</p>
<p>"You nobles can't ever just walk into a room," Jackal remarked dryly.</p>
<p>"We like to make an affair out of it."</p>
<p>Jackal snorted a laugh as he entered the small room past another door. It was a simple waiting room decorated with blue for Surna, his brothers each had one of their own in their favourite colours.</p>
<p>"Now we wait for Emperim and Alfen to arrive, I suppose. They'll call us." Surna sat slowly in a chair and, rather than taking one on the other side of the room, Jackal sat in the one closest to him, shifting it until their sides nearly touched. Surna had heart palpitations, thought for a moment he was definitely going to die with the object of his affections right next to him, worse when Jackal leaned close to him, bright eyes intent.</p>
<p>"So before we go in there," he said quietly, "I wanted to tell you something."</p>
<p>"Ah. Yes. O— Of course." Surna stared at his eyes until Jackal wrinkled up his snout, flattening his ears.</p>
<p>"Don't look at me... just listen."</p>
<p>His arm fell heavy across Surna's shoulders, squeezing tight as he pulled Surna into his side. His nose was cold where he pressed it just above Surna's ear and Surna thought he was just going to die right here, right now, and it would be worth it. He could hear the soft tick of Jackal's long teeth, his tongue as he murmured a word into Surna's ear. His heart-rate doubled.</p>
<p>He opened his mouth but Jackal pressed his fingers to his lips and smirked. "Heard it?"</p>
<p>Surna nodded, hardly able to believe it. He felt giddy. The competition, the aftermath, they didn't feel as important anymore. Nothing seemed as important, especially not when one of Jackal's fingers shifted against his mouth, gently tracing the edge as Surna's stomach and throat tightened.</p>
<p>A knock on the door didn't break them apart, not exactly, for Jackal took his time pulling away, pleased with himself.</p>
<p>"Your Royal Highness. The King calls."</p>
<p>It was time, then. But Surna didn't care at all.</p>
<p>When Surna entered, Jackal close by his side, he <em>heard</em> the reaction first. He hadn't thought of it, what his brothers or his father would think of the individual who he thought the most beautiful. It hadn't seemed so important. Surna chose who he thought was the most beautiful person in the world and he thought it was all based on subjective views anyway.</p>
<p>Jackal seemed uncomfortable with the wide-eyed scrutiny but he held his chin high and proud as he walked alongside Surna.</p>
<p>Alfen's mouth hung open—he stood alone but held something in his hand. Surely, more magic. Emperim stood with a man by his side, a man smaller than him with dark, scrutinising eyes and sharp, severe features. He had something like mistrust in him, a mistrust that distantly echoed the mistrust that Jackal had shown Surna at first.</p>
<p>It faded and the man, as he looked at Surna and Jackal, smiled slightly, lips quirking up not in scorn but in something like sincere amusement and pleasure. He leaned over and whispered something to Emperim that turned him beet red.</p>
<p>Surna's father, well, he stared just the same as the others.</p>
<p>"It seems we're all assembled. It's good to see you two well," Surna said brightly, taking Emperim's hands and squeezing, then Alfen's. Jackal smirked thinly at Emperim who still gaped and then muttered something like 'of course' as he pushed up his glasses with a shaky forefinger.</p>
<p>"You as well," Alfen murmured faintly.</p>
<p>"Father. Shall we begin?" Surna shifted to address the king with more good humour than he'd felt in a long time. Something to do with Jackal, standing just next to and behind him, taking in the throne room.</p>
<p>"I— yes. Ah. Of course," the king spluttered, clearly frazzled. "Then, I shall call upon each of your chosen individuals one at a time, please introduce yourselves and allow me to gaze upon you." He looked at Emperim first, nodding to his companion. "You first, Emperim."</p>
<p>The young man strolled forward. He was shorter than Emperim and his lips still held a faint trace of a smile. That, if nothing else, made Surna understand why Emperim had chosen him. Surely he would have a beautiful smile should he fully grin, as unassuming as the rest of his features were. "I'm Imran. A humble, poor scholar," he said, sweeping a neat bow. "I must say—" And he cut his gaze to Surna with his smile growing into a full grin and it was as bright and beautiful as Surna guessed it would be. "—I thought your brother was the one with puzzling taste, choosing me. But it looks as though it runs in the family."</p>
<p>"Shut up, there's nothing puzzling about it," Emperim hissed, pushing up his slipping glasses again, flustered. "All you have to do is look at you."</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, of course," Imran said mildly and approached the king, sweeping another bow. The king <em>hmm'd</em> and <em>I see</em>'d until he nodded for Imran to return to Emperim's side. Next he turned his attention to Surna, who just smiled, hand pressing to his chest where giddy feelings danced and warmed him.</p>
<p>"Next, you," the king said, gesturing to Jackal.</p>
<p>"Hm." Jackal stepped forward, paused next to Surna and ducked his head. He eyed Surna's smile and murmured to him quietly, "It really makes you so happy?"</p>
<p>"Naturally."</p>
<p>With that, Jackal shook his head and strode forward. He bowed in a short, casual motion and stood upright. "My name is Fahd. I'm just a simple, poor dock worker from across the ocean," he said, flashing an amused smirk at Imran, who grinned again. "His Highness Surna thoroughly believes I'm the most beautiful person he's ever met, so here I am."</p>
<p>The king beckoned him close and Fahd went, cool and calm, standing before the king to be scrutinised. "I see, I see," the king mumbled, nodding with his hand cupping his chin.</p>
<p>It didn't last long and Fahd returned to Surna's side. His hand, dangling at his side, tempted Surna enough he felt the courage to softly grasp at his fingers. Fahd gripped back, far more strongly, and Surna's knees almost gave out. He didn't even notice Emperim's vaguely impressed look as he watched the two of them, Imran snickering into his elbow.</p>
<p>"Finally, Alfen... Let us meet whom you have brought to us," the king said and his face lit up, eager and curious.</p>
<p>"Think he's biased," Emperim muttered to Imran.</p>
<p>Alfen hopped up the few steps to the throne, offering his father what he'd been carrying—a simple stone with a line running down it's center. "Here. Break the rock in half, father, and you'll meet who I've brought. The most beautiful individual in this or any land."</p>
<p>"Not true," Surna whispered very quietly. Fahd snorted.</p>
<p>The king did.</p>
<p>The assembled princes and their companions, even Alfen, winced at the flash of bright light. Surna shielded his eyes with his free hand, Fahd's fingers still firmly gripping his other, tightening protectively. He thought he heard the beastman growl softly, as though he were about to defend Surna from danger.</p>
<p>But, there wasn't any danger. As the light faded and Surna gingerly opened his eyes, he saw a girl standing before the king. Alfen beamed at her fondly, standing a step away from her. Her hair cascaded golden down her back, pooling on the floor around her feet and, though he couldn't see her face, he was sure that it was probably beautiful. She spoke in a low, soft voice to the king who gazed at her with a besotted expression.</p>
<p>Fahd's ears twitched and he cocked his head in thought. "... She smells like a cat," he said to Surna very quietly.</p>
<p>"A cat?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I think she is one. Or was one." His nose was twitching, his eyes narrowed with curiosity. "All of you brothers, I swear, you don't just pick someone normal, do you?"</p>
<p>"No, of course not, we only pick the most beautiful people." Surna leaned sideways into Fahd's arm, chuckling as he pressed his cheek into his bicep. Fahd's ears twitched and flattened and he huffed out a petulant 'oh, I see' to hide his embarrassment.</p>
<p>"Father, I've a small concern," Emperim said abruptly, shattering the awed hush that had settled in the throne room. Assembled servants had stared at the appearance of the beautiful girl who now turned from the king slightly to look upon the other two princes curiously. "That is, about you declaring a winner of this contest."</p>
<p>"A concern? Surely you do not think be a biased judge of beauty. The one I shall declare winner will be declared fairly," the king said with a sniff.</p>
<p><em>The way your eyes are sparkling at Alfen's friend, I think not,</em> Surna thought.</p>
<p>"I wonder? But no," Emperim said, adjusting his glasses, "I am afraid if you choose a winner you declare the other people brought here today lacking. And, if you were to imply that about Imran, I would not be able to abide the insult to him."</p>
<p>Imran stared. "You aren't going to—"</p>
<p>"I would abdicate, I think," Emperim declared to the dead silence of the throne room.</p>
<p>"He <em>is</em> going to," Imran whispered, dragging his fingers down his cheeks before burying his face in his hands. Surna's mouth dropped open as he gazed at his brother, the proud and defiant look on Emperim's face. More than that, the way he half-smiled at Imran's tiny, horrified groan.</p>
<p>... Well, it wasn't a bad idea, was it?</p>
<p>"No," Fahd began as he spotted the look in Surna's eyes, but it was too late.</p>
<p>"I have to agree with Emperim," Surna said confidently. "I too wouldn't be able to abide any implication that Fahd was less than the most beautiful person. Furthermore, I draw issue with this competition in general. I think it quite unsporting to compare individuals when, as I have realised, beauty is completely subjective. There is no clear way to gauge it nor should we, I think. Fahd is hardly a piece of jewellery to be judged, as much as he shines."</p>
<p>"<em>Good gods, shut up</em>," the beastman hissed, body twisting with embarrassment.</p>
<p>The king looked stunned, like he hadn't expected his two eldest sons to declare they were prepared to renounce their titles. No, who would be? It was absolutely extreme. But Surna felt it right to say, felt more that while this competition had given him the opportunity to meet Fahd, he could not in good faith allow it to continue, allow Fahd to be weighed simply on appearance.</p>
<p>It annoyed him. Fahd had enough of that.</p>
<p>When he looked up toward the king and Alfen and his companion, he saw the girl wore a thoughtful expression and she nodded her head approvingly. Alfen looked flustered, fidgeting at her clear agreement with his brother's statements, dancing on his tip-toes nervously. "M-me too," the third prince stammered though Surna wondered if that was so. Alfen did so hate to lose.</p>
<p>"I, ah. Mmm..." The king squirmed on the throne. "You three are putting me on the spot here."</p>
<p>"Then let us resolve this now."</p>
<p>The voice, clear and cool, soothed Surna's heart immediately. He whipped around, beaming as the queen came walking up from the entrance to the throne room. Fahd muttered something about 'nobles always needing to make an entrance', but he too looked curiously upon the tall woman. She wore riding gear still, her hair tightly braided and pinned on her head underneath a blood red headscarf. She paused when she reached Surna, saying, "Thank you for the letter."</p>
<p>"Of course, mother," Surna said with a bashful smile. "I am elated to see you."</p>
<p>Nasira smiled back at him, looked upon a suddenly fidgeting Fahd with sharp eyes, and then turned to the king who had stood from his throne.</p>
<p>"My darling!" he declared, but his cheeks were blotchy and his gaze wandering. Alfen wisely beat a retreat, drawing the girl at his side along with him, saying something to her about 'not wanting to get in the middle of <em>that</em>'.</p>
<p>"My love," Nasira replied coldly, "I see you have been bored absolutely silly in my absence. I could hardly believe it when I read Surna's letter."</p>
<p>The king looked reproachfully at the oldest prince, who whistled innocently and turned away.</p>
<p>"What farce is this? Competitions? To determine your successor? I determined that long ago, and I would thank you not to <em>ruin it now</em>. You've driven my sons to such a point where they feel as though they must abdicate? Were you truly sulking because I was gone away so long?" Nasira spoke calmly, but her voice was so cold that it chilled. "I feel as though I must do the same in support of my children. Perhaps you will rethink such foolish matters were you to lose someone for real."</p>
<p>The king blanched. "N-Nasira—"</p>
<p>"Yes. That sounds a perfect plan," she said, compressing her lips. "Let us leave just you to run the country and make our fortunes somewhere else."</p>
<p>"If it at all helps," Alfen's companion spoke up abruptly, her soft voice carrying, "I've six kingdoms to my name. Naturally, it's quite impossible for one person alone to run them all, so you are welcome to them."</p>
<p>Nasira clapped her hands. "Ah, see! How it all works out. Farewell, my love, may our paths never cross again. Come, Surna. Emperim. Alfen."</p>
<p>"Wait! Wait, wait, wait—"</p>
<p>Naturally, Nasira hadn't been serious about it. But she had been <em>furious</em> and Surna sat back for nigh on an hour and watched his father be utterly trampled emotionally and mentally by the queen. She pounced and ripped out every one of his weaknesses and faults and displayed them for the entire throne room and servants and princes to see. By the end, King Maruf had been thoroughly beaten down and Surna felt the first welling of pity for him.</p>
<p>It helped that he came, apologising in a tiny voice to each and every one of them but no-one more than Surna himself.</p>
<p>"Of course, I want you for a successor," his father said gingerly, "your whole life, all of your teachings, have built up for that purpose. I just—well. Nasira had gone away, and it was terribly dull, and—"</p>
<p>She'd took him aside for some more yelling, but it was enough.</p>
<p>Surna took Fahd by the hand, leading him through the castle, pointing out places he'd grown up, the rooms he'd played in, putting off taking him to one place in particular. It wasn't any rush anyway, and perhaps he was getting ahead of himself but he couldn't help it. Fahd had whispered his name to him so low, so sweet, that Surna wondered if it wasn't just him after all. If he wasn't the only one in love, if Fahd felt the same.</p>
<p>If he did, then— <em>if he did, then</em>—</p>
<p>"This is great and all, but I'm getting sick of people gawking at me. Are we going to your room or not?"</p>
<p>Surna pulled up short, gaping back at Fahd, who looked calmly back at him. But his twitching ears and jerking tail gave away more than Fahd was aware. His features may not have lent themselves well to expression, but his body more than made up for it. "We? My room? Uh—"</p>
<p>Fahd stepped closer, leaned in, bumped his nose to the tip of Surna's, cool and damp. "I decided that once this stupid competition thing was over, I was going to get serious," he said, low voice rumbling. "About you. And me. I'm guessing that you still want me around, right? You haven't told me to leave. So. I'm planning on staying with you, and I'm going to court you and keep an eye on you so that you don't exhaust yourself anymore. So that you always have someone with you that's on your side."</p>
<p>Surna's face burned, his mouth flapping open and shut. "I... <em>I</em> wanted to propose first."</p>
<p>Fahd spluttered, his ears laying flat and his head jerking back. "Idiot," he hissed, "this isn't a proposal! It's just... just my declaration of romantic interest! In you!"</p>
<p>"I— I love you too."</p>
<p>Surna couldn't think, really, words just overflowed, words that he'd kept buried and Fahd made a deep, animal sound, jerking his head from side to side. Was he that embarrassed again? It was so cute, the way his gaze would wander, the way his tail wagged furiously behind him.</p>
<p>"Say that <em>after</em> I tell you I love you," Fahd snarled and Surna chuckled, reaching up to his face, cupping his cheeks. Fahd stilled as Surna stroked his thumbs along his velvety, dark fur and looked his face over fondly.</p>
<p>"I love you too," he said again.</p>
<p>Fahd sighed.</p>
<p>"Though I can't figure out quite how to kiss you," Surna added, scrunching his brow. Fahd put both hands on his waist, pressing clawed fingertips into the exquisite material of Surna's vest. He leaned that much closer and licked Surna's mouth so abruptly that Surna about jerked back. "...it's like being licked by Tiar."</p>
<p>"Well, sorry," Fahd huffed. "If you don't like it, figure out another way."</p>
<p>"All right. I think I can do that." Surna dragged his thumbs down Fahd's face, up toward his ears, thumbing at the darker patches of black that were his eyebrows.</p>
<p>A servant cleared their throat nearby and the two paused.</p>
<p>"...In my room, maybe," Surna added sheepishly, dropping his hands. Fahd caught one, intertwined their fingers, and tugged him gently along. "Fahd? Do you know where it is?"</p>
<p>"No. We'll get there eventually."</p>
<p>Surna laughed and pushed his head against Fahd's arm and thought, dreamed, about what type of ring he should get him.</p>
<p><br/>THE END<b><br/></b></p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Black Jackal: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Goodness, to think that I’d have such a privilege...”</p><p>Fahd sighed, for the third time that afternoon, and regretted doing what he had done. But it was done and here he was, sitting shirtless and feeling quite flustered before the first prince himself. Surna sat behind him, humming happily as he ran his palm over the sleek black fur that covered Fahd from head-to-clawed-toe. That palm was always followed by the slide of a smooth-bristled brush. It pulled at his fur pleasantly, especially since his back was so difficult to brush.</p><p>“You really don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”</p><p>“Of course I do.”</p><p>As usual, Surna was warmly passionate and assured in what he said, this so-called ‘privilege’ of brushing his lover’s fur. His awe bled through his tone of voice and made Fahd’s ears burn, for goodness sake! It was damned embarrassing.</p><p>His embarrassment slipped away as the brush caught briefly on a tangle. Surna paused and, with the expertise of someone used to detangling, coaxed the knot to soften with his fingertips before resuming his brushing.</p><p>“I know you didn’t pick this up from Tiar,” he said dryly, for the dog had an even smoother coat than him. “So, where’d you get this little talent?”</p><p>“Believe it or not,” Surna said, “both Emperim and Alfen, at one point, wanted to wear their hair down to their feet when they were younger.”</p><p>Flashes of the stern eyeglasses-wearing prince and the flouncy, flighty one popped into Fahd’s head. He snorted inelegantly. Surna chuckled at his reaction.</p><p>“Indeed! However, they took absolutely terrible care of their hair so it fell to me to brush it and braid it. Fahd, you haven’t the slightest what kind of monstrosities I would find in Alfen’s hair. It was an ecosystem for the rarest of insects. Ugh.” He shuddered expressively behind Fahd, who barked out laughter once again, tossing his head back this time as he pictured the small Surna he’d seen in painted portraits with his round little nose and chubby cheeks screwed up in disgust.</p><p>“You poor sucker,” Fahd laughed.</p><p>“Yes. Thank goodness they outgrew it.” Surna sighed. “I think Mother was with me one day while I was doing it and she just said, ‘no, you both waste Surna’s time with your hair, it’s time to cut it’ and lopped it off then and there.”</p><p>Fahd pictured the fierce woman who reminded him of a desert sandstorm. “I can see that,” he agreed quickly, grinning.</p><p>“Thus, I was freed. Not before I became quite skilled at de-knotting and braiding, though.”</p><p>Surna’s fingertips dragged along the back of Fahd’s neck. The beastman felt a shudder go up through it and he tensed on instinct, biting his teeth together.</p><p>“Though your fur is nowhere near long enough for a braid,” he said, soft and oblivious. It wasn’t fair that Surna should have all the fun, Fahd thought abruptly, of discombobulating him without even realising it. He clenched his hands briefly in his lap before turning, so quickly that Surna jumped in surprise. “Fahd?”</p><p>“Your turn,” he said roughly and seized Surna about the waist.</p><p>The prince squeaked as he tumbled into Fahd’s lap, struggling to right himself though Fahd twisted him about perfectly well so he was seated as comfortably as he could be. His gaze darted to and fro, mouth open and letting out some stream of useless words of flustered embarrassment. It was a delightful switch, and the jackal delighted in it.</p><p>Fahd leaned in, sniffing, nosing at his cheek, up to his temple and his hairline, his neatly-kept dark hair that always smelled of the incenses and oils he loved. “Bet it was ages since you last had anyone brush your hair,” he said. “Gimme the brush.”</p><p>Surna clutched it to his chest. Fahd narrowed his eyes contemplatively.</p><p>“If you don’t, I’ll eat you up.” He snapped his teeth in a soft ‘click’ by Surna’s ear and felt more than heard his breath catch.</p><p>“Is that supposed to be a threat, my love?” Surna asked with a laugh that trembled.</p><p>Fahd’s chest stormed with warmth and he <em>hmph</em>ed, a sharp gust through his nostrils. “Not as good a one as I hoped. Give me the brush, <em>please</em>, love.”</p><p>The usage of the endearment was enough and Surna bashfully handed over the brush.</p><p>First his hair and then—well, maybe he would carry out his ‘threat’ after that?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Cap-o'-Rushes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i had the damndest time writing this one before i decided that braxton was just gonna be a heccin weirdo eccentric rich boy and then it was easy to write</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there lived a wealthy gentleman and his family. He was well-off and happy, with a loving wife and three children who he was certain loved him more than anything. He had two daughters and a son who was the youngest of the three.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One day, this gentleman turned to his children and asked, "Will you three tell your Papa how much you love him?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The eldest sister replied, "I love you more than anything in the world, Papa."</em>
</p><p><em>The middle sister replied, "I love you even more than I love </em>life<em>, Papa," with a pointed glance at her eldest sister.</em></p><p>
  <em>And then came the son's turn. He thought to himself that asking your children how much they loved you was a mite egotistical but nevertheless replied with sincerity and heart, "I love you as much as meat needs salt, Dad."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>While his two sisters put their faces in their hands, the gentleman was shocked and hurt by his only son's response. "You don't love me at all!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Leave my home at once!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No, Papa, Braxton didn't mean it like that," the elder sister tried to protest on her aghast brother's behalf, but it was already too late for the son. With little more than a pack of paltry supplies and what little money he had amassed in his life, the son was forced to leave his home and thus struck out into the foggy fen.</em>
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  <em>He spent days getting lost and, when the fog's chill seeped into his bones he wove himself a cloak made of rushes, donning it as he approached the light of a castle...</em><br/>
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</p><p>"There he is, Wicker Will," Braxton said, peering through the narrow lens of a spyglass. It was aimed at one of the enormous windows that looked into the castle ballroom. He spoke softly, to company somewhere in his cloak of reeds, a docile garter snake who he'd found when lost in the fen. "The man we need."</p><p>Wicker Will poked his head out from Braxton's collar, tongue tasting the cool evening air, before he decided that it was too cold out here for him and slithered right back down.</p><p>"Now all we've got to do," Braxton said, "is get in there to talk to him. If it's him, there's no doubt he'll understand."</p><p>He frowned, lowering his spyglass and tapping it against the windowsill.</p><p>"It's just the 'getting in there' part. I guess he's bound to talk to me if I'm dressed up fancy, right?" he asked the snake cheerfully, looking to where his pack sat up against the loft's wall. Within were his fine clothes from home—they'd been dirty when he first arrived, but now they'd been cleaned and carefully hidden away while he played the part of a poor wanderer. He did favours and chores in exchange for the barn loft he lounged in and it wasn't a terrible gig, but... he needed something else to carry out his plan.</p><p>That something was <em>him</em>. The most important man in this whole place.</p><p>The cook!</p><p>No-one could understand Braxton but another person as passionate about food as he was. For that, he needed a cook—nay, a chef! Surely a man as esteemed as the one who owned this castle wouldn't waste his time hiring just any old <em>bumpkin</em> to do the cooking, right? Right. That's why Braxton needed to get to him.</p><p>If he understood, if he could sympathise with Braxton's predicament, then...</p><p>"I can show that ass what's what," he muttered, stifling the pained twinge in his chest.</p><p>Looking to his pack once again, Braxton made up his mind and smiled.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
The ballroom was as grand as he expected. An enormous, tiled floor done in mosaic, and the ceiling had been painted with images of angels, cherubs and other figures. People in beautiful dresses and finery danced or spoke to one another on the sides of the ballroom, but Braxton's eyes weren't for them.</p><p>Though, he himself drew the eye. His finery wasn't anything to scoff at, beautiful clothes of a gentleman that implied wealth and influence. Combine that with the way he'd slicked back his dark red hair so that only a small whorl covered his forehead, and he cut a fine figure indeed. Only the restless way he looked around deterred people from approaching the stranger. None doubted that he had an invitation, certainly no gentleman as well-to-do as Braxton would <em>not</em> have an invitation to this gala.</p><p>Braxton zeroed in on the long tables set up, covered with drinks or small hors d'oeuvres for those who wished not to fill themselves excessively before dancing. It was a professional gesture—surely the chef he needed was a polished professional! Braxton almost vibrated with excitement as he perused the food without touching one. He admired the layout, the visual presentation even more than the food itself. Only when he had finished looking over everything did he try a sample.</p><p><em>Ahh... perfect!</em> He gripped one hand as he thought this.</p><p>It was why his sisters had reacted with exasperation rather than surprise at his declaration of his love for his father: <em>this</em> was what Braxton was like. Food-interested and food-motivated, he was what the modern person might call a foo—<em>a gourmet</em>. Yes. A <em>gourmet</em> was the word. He had particular tastes but he would try everything once, because it was a shame not to sample everything the world had to offer.</p><p>These little dishes in particular were scrumptious. He burned with a desire, nay, a <em>need</em> to meet the creator!</p><p>Looking wildly about, he saw no such person.</p><p>But of course. They would not keep to the ballroom. They would stay in the shadows until the time came to replenish the food. Very well! He would wait!</p><p>Braxton withdrew to a pillar and did just that.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>And wait, and wait, gently declining any invitations from lady and lord alike who invited him to dance. Even the young master of the castle saw him, fidgeted before approaching and gallantly asking him to dance. Braxton smiled, held up a hand and said, "Terribly sorry, I'm actually waiting for my fated one at the moment."</p><p>Naturally, his fated one was the <em>chef</em>.</p><p>With their meeting, he was sure to see all of his troubles come to an end!</p><p>The young master of the house, confused, could only depart with a few fumbled words of farewell.</p><p><em>I hope Wicker Will is all right, </em>Braxton thought, mind wandering from his goal as he waited for more guests to sample from the table, for enough to be eaten that the chef or his fellows would come out. He had left his snake curled up in the depths of his cloak, assuring he had placed a carefully wrapped bottle of hot water nearby so the snake wouldn't be too chilled without him there. He tapped his chin with his finger and then he saw it.</p><p>White, a flash of it in the corner of his eye.</p><p>He peered around the pillar and <em>there</em>, indeed, was one of the kitchen staff.</p><p>The man was unassuming by appearance and young, hardly older than Braxton. His hair was short and black, combed back in such a way it wouldn't get into his eyes. However, Braxton could tell it was probably long in front and that, if mussed, it would cover up his eyes almost completely. At the corner of the man's mouth was a small beauty mark, and he moved carefully and meticulously to replace the foods on the plate, replicating the layout from earlier perfectly.</p><p>
  <em>No mistake about it, that's him!</em>
</p><p>He'd glimpsed him through the lens of his spyglass. The man that the others in the kitchen deferred to, though he hadn't been able to gain a proper look at him until now. He had glimpsed that beauty mark, though, just a flash of it, enough to stick in his memory.</p><p>Braxton almost <em>stormed</em> up to the man who didn't notice him until it was too late.</p><p>"Excuse me," he said, sweeping a bow like a gentleman. The man—<em>chef</em>—startled, nearly dropping his serving plate and his tongs, staring at Braxton with wide eyes. "I've something to ask of you, if you've a moment."</p><p>"Uh," the chef said awkwardly, "sure. I mean. Yes, my lord?"</p><p>"If I were to say," Braxton began, straightening and placing a hand against his chest, putting passion into his voice, "that I loved you as much as meat needs salt... what would you say?"</p><p>The chef stared at him, eyes so wide that Braxton almost felt like he should start worrying for his health. Then, as though he were being dipped in paint, red flowed from the bottom of his cheeks upward, until his whole face was bright red. Braxton blinked as he tipped his head slightly to one side, wondering what on earth would make this man blush so—</p><p>Ah.</p><p>"I mean," Braxton stuttered, "hypothetically?"</p><p>"Hypothetically," the chef jumped on the word quickly, "r-right! Er. In... in what context are you saying this?"</p><p>Braxton started to blush at recreating the scene between himself and his father with what was a complete stranger. However, shame hadn't brought him this far! He found his confidence and straightened up, replying, "If you asked me 'how much do you love me', that's what I would have responded with. What say you? Would you be offended and think I didn't love you?"</p><p>"This is a very sudden conversation," the chef muttered, fiddling with his tongs. "But rather than offended, I'd be, um. That is to say... er... Very flattered."</p><p>Braxton's eyes lit up and he almost lunged. He gripped one of the chef's hands, the one that was holding his tongs, and said, "<em>Exactly</em>. <em>You</em> understand! Of course <em>you</em> understand! A fellow food lover would understand that perfectly well. Do you know that, if you were not who you were, you would accuse me of saying I didn't love you at all?"</p><p>The chef's mouth flapped open and closed and he looked around, as if frantically searching for something. For what, Braxton hadn't the slightest.</p><p>(Escape. That was what the chef was searching for.)</p><p>Eh. It wasn't important. He had his man, and his plan was already a success!</p><p>"I-is that so?" the chef said at last, blushing all over again. "That seems like an overreaction on my—on the hypothetical me's part."</p><p>"<em>Right?</em> I swear," Braxton huffed. "People are so prone to excessive reactions."</p><p>So said Braxton, while gripping the hand of a stranger, standing too close to him for any stranger's comfort. And, what Braxton didn't realise, they were drawing stares from some of the people who had come to sample some of the food. The chef noticed, though, and carefully tried to pull his hand out of Braxton's grip, uncertain what to make of this small, fiery man who was very, very into this hypothetical conversation.</p><p>Braxton tightened his grip, though, looking intensely up into the chef's eyes. "As such, I've need of your help. Only you can help—no-one but you can understand this expression of love," he told him solemnly.</p><p>The chef flushed again. "Help... how?"</p><p>"Why, naturally by doing what you are meant to do: cook!"</p><p>"...Huh?"<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Braxton didn't know why, but the chef insisted that they continue the conversation in his kitchen. Well, he was probably busy with his cooking and everything, Braxton concluded and went along with him, allowing the man to lead him by the hand (he had yet to let go, and refused to until reassured that the chef wasn't leaving him) until they got to the kitchen. He was sat down with a glass of water and asked to begin his story from the beginning.</p><p>"So that's what it is," groaned the chef, Sixte, slumped over with his hand over his eyes.</p><p>His reaction was very much like Braxton's sisters. Hm.</p><p>"Yes. So, in order to make my father realise how much I do actually care about him, I want to make him see reason. I would like for him to rethink the way that he reacted to me," Braxton replied. He frowned into his glass of water, tapping his nails against the glass. "I thought to ask you if you'd prepare a feast of different meats and not season them so he could understand how lacking they were without salt. I would try to do it, but I—"</p><p>Here he stopped, sealing his lips.</p><p>"What's wrong?" Sixte asked, encouraging him on with a nod. Braxton turned his face to one side, a mulish look on it. "I won't laugh?"</p><p>"...I can't cook," Braxton admitted in a quiet voice.</p><p>Sixte blinked, and his lips twitched.</p><p>"<em>You said you wouldn't laugh,</em>" Braxton hissed, flushing and standing up from his chair in a fluster.</p><p>"No, I'm—I'm sorry, I just think it's cute," Sixte explained quickly, his lips still pulled in a smile. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Rather, I've never met someone well off who <em>could</em> cook. That's why cooks and chefs and servants work."</p><p>Braxton set his jaw. "As someone who loves food, I'm ashamed," he said grimly. "I've attempted cooking, truly I have. I've watched others cook, I've watched the cook in my own residence prepare food and I thought I replicated it completely... but I could never do it."</p><p>Sixte's smile slid off of his face, surprise replacing it. It was at the fact that Braxton had <em>tried</em>. It hadn't been an admission of not having the knowledge, it was one of him having the knowledge but being unable to apply it.</p><p>"It's okay," he said gently, encouragingly. "Even I wasn't able to cook right away."</p><p>Braxton sniffed in disbelief. "Paltry reassurances. I imagine you were born with a spoon in hand and a mastery of the stove," he retorted.</p><p>Sixte laughed again, nearly bending in half as his head shook back and forth. It scattered his dark hair into his eyes, and he said <em>oops</em> and hastily combed it back from his face to look at Braxton. "Really. I don't think anyone comes out knowing how to cook," he said, voice thick.</p><p>Braxton observed him but, since Sixte was fetching when he laughed, he decided to let it slide. "I suppose I'll believe you for now," he said. For some reason, he had become convinced since long ago that chefs and cooks were either magicians or geniuses or both—it likely had something to do with his sisters taking advantage of their very, very gullible youngest brother. "Anyhow, to return to the subject at hand, what say you? Will you prepare a feast?"</p><p>Sixte hesitated, gaze wandering to and fro around the bustling kitchen. They'd chosen a quieter corner, but it was busy enough he ought to get back to work in short order. "Besides preparing a feast for your father," he said, dodging the question, "what is your plan? Did you plan on hosting it here, in the castle? Or perhaps do you have your own estate..."</p><p>"Huh," Braxton said.</p><p>"...Did you think that far?"</p><p>Braxton was shaken, fingers pressing to his forehead. "I honestly got as far as needing you, a chef, and gaining your assistance in preparing a feast and I hadn't gone beyond that..."</p><p>Foolishness! How could he have forgotten that! At most, all he had at the moment was a barn loft and he doubted that a gentleman and well-to-do person like his father would come on the invitation of a mysterious person to partake of a feast in the same building animals ate. But he didn't own even his own home and he had no estates to call his own...</p><p>Sixte shifted and when Braxton looked up, he saw the man looking at him worriedly. "How about this," Sixte began after a moment. "If you can come up with the rest of your plan and give me a place to prepare a feast... I'll do so for you. If it's just a couple of people, that's not too extreme of a thing for one person to do."</p><p>Braxton lit up, leaping to his feet and seizing Sixte by his hands. Sixte dissolved into blushing and splutters as Braxton squeezed his fingers firmly. "Truly, you are a companion of my heart," he declared passionately. "I am grateful that fate brought us together this day. Not to worry! I'll figure everything out and, once I do, I'll return to tell you the plan. Until then, await me!"</p><p>Sixte could only nod helplessly at Braxton's vehemence. Beaming, the fiery young man released his hands (though not without a parting squeeze) and near blazed his way out of the kitchens.</p><p>Sixte shakily sunk down into a chair.</p><p>"You're weak to that type, huh," observed one of the kitchen staff sympathetically.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
Though he said he would figure everything out... Where to begin?</p><p>He ought to have accepted the young master's offer to dance, Braxton realised now. If he had struck up a friendship he could've begged from him the use of the dining room. No, perhaps it wasn't too late. He still had his finery and he was sure the young master would remember him. So he would make fast friends with him and then request the use of his dining room for one paltry night and then he wouldn't cause Sixte any inconvenience either! If Sixte could use the kitchen he always did, there was nothing to worry about.</p><p>Cheered at the thought, Braxton kept cleaning up the hay in the barn, the tasks he did in exchange for 'room and board'. He always wore his cloak of rushes that concealed his features and body and he was frankly sweating in it, though Wicker Will surely had no complaints at the heat. As he forked another bit of soiled hay into the wheelbarrow behind him, he heard voices approaching the barn.</p><p>Oh, it was the job of a servant to make oneself scarce. He quickly grabbed the wheelbarrow and took the other exit, the smaller one, out into the afternoon air. It was refreshing after a morning of pitchforking away and he hummed to himself as he wheeled the hay to where the staff collected it for when it would be used on the fields.</p><p>It bumped over a particularly large divet in the ground and Braxton muttered "oops", steadying the wheelbarrow before crouching to pick up a few scattered pieces of hay.</p><p>A pair of feet became visible on the other side of the wheelbarrow and he jerked to his feet, his rush hood shrouding his vision before he realised he was looking at Sixte... or, well, a different version of Sixte. He was dressed down and his brushed-back hair fell over his eyes, allowing only a peek at them in-between thick strands of dark hair. He looked with confusion and without recognition at Braxton.</p><p>"Um... I'm sorry, were you one of the employees here?" he asked in a politely confused voice.</p><p>Ah... the jig was up... Well, it wasn't a big deal to tell Sixte, Braxton supposed.</p><p>"My friend, it's me," Braxton said, pushing back his hood and Sixte's mouth dropped open. "You see, I've picked up some work in the barn! ...In exchange for them letting me sleep in the loft and for a bit of food. Hehe."</p><p>"I—what. Since last night?"</p><p>"Actually, I've been here a week or more..."</p><p>"<em>I didn't notice at all.</em>"</p><p>"Well, naturally you wouldn't notice a new servant when I work in the barns and you in the kitchens, so I wouldn't worry about it." Braxton gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow, starting to move it as Sixte fell into step with him.</p><p>"Anyone would notice a servant who wore <em>that</em>... aren't you well-off? Some kind of noble?" Sixte stammered. "Yet you're working in the barn!"</p><p>"After the whole debacle with my dad, he actually threw me out," Braxton admitted sheepishly. He'd left out that part of the story, leaving it at just the explanation that his father had been angry with him. Not that he'd gone so far as to toss Braxton out on his rump. "I had been lost for days in the fens and was just thinking about what I could do when I stumbled out of them and upon the castle! It was a stroke of good luck they needed an extra hand in the barn. Then I came up with my plan with the food and I figured I'd find you and bam, reconciliation, my dad regrets being a right ass about it, perfect."</p><p>Sixte groaned, for some reason clutching his head with both of his hands. "But in the <em>barn</em>... It must be uncomfortable. Are you all right? Aren't you cold at nights?"</p><p>"I run hot," Braxton said proudly.</p><p>"I don't know that that's enough... here, um. How about you... ah..." Sixte waffled, gaze wandering away as he twisted his hand. Braxton lifted up the linens thrown over the compost pile and shot him a curious look as he tipped the contents of the wheelbarrow onto it. "That is, um... I-I..."</p><p>"Are you all right, man? You're having quite a time there." Braxton furrowed his thin red eyebrows in concern.</p><p>"No! I mean! Yes. Yes, of course I'm all right. I'm more concerned about you..."</p><p>"Not to worry. I'm very hardy." Braxton grinned and turned back toward the barn before remembering the reason he'd scarpered in the first place. Hmm. He wandered back up the hill and Sixte followed him anxiously, fidgeting and shuffling. "Besides, I've already come up with the beginnings of the rest of my plan. Before you know it, I'll have it all set up and we'll be starting in on preparing your chef-d'œuvre, your unseasoned feast."</p><p>Sixte looked at him wretchedly and Braxton froze.</p><p>"<em>I'm too worried about you catching ill to think about that,</em>" he whispered, then caught himself with a tiny sound of surprise. "I was going to say. Um. I actually live nearby. I have a spare room? Please come stay in my spare room, people shouldn't sleep in barns."</p><p>"Uh." Braxton fidgeted. "That's terrifically nice of you. But I'm already asking quite the favour of you to prepare a feast for my father without taking advantage of—"</p><p>"<em>Please</em>." Sixte's eyes flashed fire through his bangs and Braxton raised his hands in surrender.</p><p>"Okay, okay, I'll gladly partake of your spare bedroom. I have a snake though, is that going to be fine?"</p><p>"...A snake?"</p><p>"Wicker Will!" Braxton reached into his cloak and withdrew the tiny garter snake, who yawned. Sixte's mouth fell open and he said "ooohhhh" in a soft tone of voice as he looked at the sleepy reptile. "He's charming, isn't he? I picked him up in the fens. Actually, he rather came with the rushes I'm wearing right now... haha!"</p><p>Sixte held his head again for some reason. What a strange man. But he supposed chefs and lovers of art were bound to be a little eccentric, much like himself.</p><p>That's surely why Sixte was muttering to himself, something along the lines of "can't stop worrying, is he going to be fine, how does one person manage to stay this upbeat after all of that, what if it had been a poisonous snake, <em>I'm so worried</em>".<br/>
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"Ooh," Braxton murmured, bouncing on the edge of the soft bed. Sixte stood in the doorway, fidgeting as he watched Braxton test out the bed. The cloak of rushes had been ceremoniously taken from him the moment they'd gotten to Sixte's home and he'd forced on Braxton a thick cloak instead to bundle around himself. Admittedly more comfortable than something made out of rushes, and Wicker Will from his inner pocket position agreed thoroughly if the way he'd curled up in it said anything. "This is very nice. Like home, actually."</p><p>Sixte's expression brightened into a pleased smile. "That's good. Are you hungry? Did you get some dinner while you were waiting for me to be finished for the day? Shall I prepare something now?"</p><p>"No, no, I had a bite to eat. Very generous of them to feed me still when I told him I wouldn't be staying in the barn. Or working in the barn and stables... really, I could've kept working, it was rather satisfying."</p><p>"Nonsense," Sixte said firmly. "Anyway, what did you eat?"</p><p>"Hm? Bread and cheese and fruit."</p><p>Sixte put his hand to his head. "Is that all...?"</p><p>"Well, naturally. Work as a servant, eat as a servant. I would much prefer some of the food that you prepared for that grand party, but of course I held no expectations of eating that every day. Rather, I was quite lucky to sample it," Braxton chattered happily as he pulled off the thick cloak and left it bundled up for Wicker Will to snooze in as Braxton stood and took account of the rest of the bedroom.</p><p>"I'll make something."</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>When he turned, Sixte was already gone. Baffled, Braxton scratched his hair. He was very persistent, the chef. He had already exceeded all of Braxton's expectations by saying that he would prepare an unseasoned feast. But to offer him his spare bedroom and give him a cloak and tell him that tomorrow, a day of rest, they would go out into the small town and prepare some spare clothing for Braxton...</p><p>...</p><p><em>It's like one of my sisters is here,</em> he thought. They had always told him that he was terrible at taking care of himself, that he would space out and forget to do things or go wandering off when he shouldn't. They were thoroughly convinced that one day he would just walk clean off a cliff for some reason he didn't understand.</p><p>"Here we are. It's just a bit of soup made with leftovers, but I hope that it's palatable," Sixte's voice broke through his thoughts. He carried a small tray with a bowl on it. His hair was combed back out of his face, revealing his dark eyes and Braxton looked at them solemnly, taking mental note that they were pretty. He walked over to Braxton, offering the tray and Braxton took it.</p><p>The moment the scent hit his nose his stomach growled.</p><p>...While he was able to survive on bread and cheese and fruit, yeah, it hadn't been at all filling.</p><p>Sixte stood back, watching as Braxton nearly devoured the soup, giving an eager running commentary at the same time, "Leftovers! Leftovers, you said? How can you make such a thick and sumptuous broth with just leftovers? Ah, mushrooms! I see. They make it even richer than it would be usually without them." He slurped down a mouthful, chewing. "Delicious. Your use of spices is, as usual, unparalleled. I feel as though I am doing a terrible thing by asking you to make a meal without."</p><p>"Aha... don't worry. It's not difficult to not use spices, though it's rather unsatisfying," Sixte said with a small laugh. "I'm afraid it'll be a very bland meal for your father."</p><p>"Well, good. Perhaps that'll teach him a lesson. He doesn't understand, of course, the work that goes into food. The thought!" Braxton gestured passionately to the nearly-empty bowl of soup with his spoon. "What vegetables do you use for a meal? What pairs best with what meat? How do you cook it? There are thousands upon thousands of different ways to prepare something or to serve a dish but, because dad's never actually thought about it, he doesn't understand at all how lucky he is to have his food prepared so exquisitely for him. Jeez. It was a big compliment..."</p><p>He sulked, brought back to that moment, the shocking anger turned on him. His sisters trying to defend him but just as caught off guard by his father's reaction. Was it hurt? Even though, in Braxton's opinion, it was the highest way of expressing his feelings.</p><p>Sixte, as if sensing the shift in mood, approached and sat beside him on the edge of his bed, gingerly laying his palm on Braxton's back. "If it means anything, I understand. And I'm sure that he'll understand—yours is a good plan, if a little unorthodox."</p><p>"As long as he understands, I'll be satisfied."</p><p>Sixte watched him for a long moment and, slowly, "Will you go back home after you've reconciled?"</p><p>Braxton blinked as he finished off the remainder of the soup and let the tray just rest in his lap. "I haven't thought that far. I don't have anywhere else to go; really, it isn't as though I have all that much. I also like my sisters and my mother, and I wasn't able to say goodbye to them."</p><p>"I see..." Sixte rubbed the fingers of his free hand against the point of his chin, frowning in thought. "Well—ah, I suppose that's something to decide after everything's settled."</p><p>"Indeed. I've got several other things I need to finish first. I need to secure a suitable place to serve food," Braxton said and brightened. "I have decided I shall make friends with the young master of the house and see if I cannot obtain his permission to make use of the dining room."</p><p>Sixte stared. "That's—that's your plan?"</p><p>"Yes! He seemed interested in dancing with me at that party before, I feel he will be amendable to friendship," Braxton declared.</p><p>Sixte held his head. "Friendship... friendship, huh... ahh..."</p><p>"What's wrong, man? Headache?"</p><p>"No... perhaps a little one, actually..."<br/>
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Sixte observed anxiously from a distance as Braxton, in the familiar finery he wore the first night that Sixte had met him, chattered merrily with the young master of the house. He'd been the one to bring in tea and snacks for the master and his 'new lord friend', who many of the kitchen staff recognised as the fiery man who had grabbed their head chef and spoke to him passionately.</p><p>He was watching closely for any gestures that would imply anything more than friendship. But, the master himself kept his hands to himself, though his body was inclined as he smiled and spoke with Braxton. This plan had a number of worrying factors to it—if the young master had been interested enough to ask Braxton to dance the night of the party, then perhaps his interest would go as far as marriage? Then how would Braxton get out of it?</p><p>Sixte fretted and he knew why.</p><p>He too had been thrown out, though for a number of other reasons. When Braxton further explained his situation to Sixte, the fact that he'd been forced from his home simply for expressing his feelings in his own way, he recalled his home. He had never once considered going back, however, to a home that didn't take pains to understand him. He was puzzled as to why Braxton would try so hard for a father that could misunderstand him so easily when a parent <em>should</em> be able to understand their child's eccentrics.</p><p>Even if you expressed love in an odd way, still wasn't it an expression of love?</p><p>He had thought that very much after he'd been driven out. He'd never been good at expressing feelings through words, packing them into his food, into what he could make with his hands. He always thought he was understood, but in the end he wasn't. Braxton was able to express himself verbally in some ways, but it was different from other people and he wound up misunderstood.</p><p>What, then, was the middle ground? What did a person have to do to be understood?</p><p>He hoped only that Braxton wasn't misunderstood. He brought a small, fresh plate of pastries and bowed out without saying anything. Braxton met his eyes for a moment, though, and he thought they sparkled, happy and confident.</p><p>Goodness but how did a person manage to stay as such? Sixte had been inconsolable when he'd been driven out. He'd wondered if Braxton wasn't just good at hiding it and certainly the other night he'd let some of his heavier feelings out—he was confused, Sixte thought, rather than upset. He didn't understand why he wasn't understood.</p><p><em>That</em> panged.</p><p>He worried over Braxton very much because of it. As he slipped to the doorway to watch over the proceedings, he eyed the young master and resolved to step in if he had to. <em>He</em> had been very much alone at one point. Unfortunately, he hadn't had anyone and it had been rough and he'd had to climb over it alone. Having gone through it alone, he couldn't abide watching someone else go through it by themselves when he was capable of extending a hand.</p><p>He very much wanted to look out for a person like Braxton. Strange, yes, but bombastic and clever in a way, full of opinions about food, about people, about everything. A firecracker of a man.</p><p>He smiled slightly to himself thinking so.</p><p>The tender curl of warmth in his chest made him freeze, however, his face flushing hot as he remembered the first meeting, the declaration before Braxton said 'hypothetical, it's hypothetical'.</p><p><em>Uh oh,</em> Sixte thought.<br/>
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"He said he'll give us use of the dining room and the kitchens two weeks from tonight," Braxton said excitedly as he paced around Sixte's humble living room. Sixte watched him with a small smile from his kitchen, working on something there that filled the entire home with sweet and savoury smells. "He was very understanding after I explained—naturally, not all of it, just that I am trying to reconcile with my father."</p><p>"Congratulations, Braxton," Sixte replied.</p><p>Braxton grinned, though something niggled in the back of his mind. Sixte had been unusually quiet all evening and, the moment they stepped inside, he'd beelined right for the kitchen. He'd thrown himself into cooking something and shooed Braxton away when Braxton tried to sneak a peek at what he was doing. He was only allowed to smell and oh, the smells tempted him. His stomach growled as he breathed them in.</p><p>Whatever it was would surely be delicious.</p><p>"There's nothing that occupies you that night either? All will be well to send a missive to my father? Anonymously, of course, and he wouldn't dare refuse such an invitation to a castle." Braxton perched himself in a chair, swaying back and forth with restless energy.</p><p>"No, there's nothing to worry about. The kitchen can do without me as well, it's only for one night and shouldn't cause much fuss," Sixte answered absentmindedly.</p><p>The smell was driving him crazy. It smelled so good.</p><p>"...Will you tell me what you're cooking? I am dying to know," Braxton managed, squirming.</p><p>Sixte paused and turned in his direction, his lips twitching upward, his fingers pushing his bangs restlessly off of his forehead. He was always doing that, Braxton thought, he just ought to cut out the middle man and pin back his bangs so Braxton could always watch his expressive dark eyes.</p><p>"It's a secret," he said, mischief tingeing his voice for the first time. "If you can't guess, then I'm not going to tell you. But... it's special, to celebrate the fact that your plan has gone well."</p><p>"Oh..."</p><p>'Special'. Someone was preparing food special for him. Sixte had done so before, with soup and breakfast, he'd even prepared Braxton a small lunch. He hadn't been able to just return home after the long tea time with the young master, had found himself a quiet place not far from Sixte's home and ate there in the fresh air.</p><p>He was dying to know what it was. The air smelled heady and there was the scent of wine, onions, chicken, but he'd never had such a dish with all of these ingredients. Braxton wracked his brain, muttering to himself as he sniffed again and again, trying to connect the scent to a dish he'd ever had but he hadn't. Certainly hadn't.</p><p>Sixte appeared at the dining room table, a small and modest affair and he began to set it. Usually he didn't make it fancy where it was just the two of them but he did tonight, lighting candles, pouring glasses of wine and inviting Braxton to one of the seats by patting its back.</p><p>Hm. He slid into it, smelled the wine. It was the same kind as what Sixte was cooking with.</p><p>"Here you are."</p><p>Sixte set a shallow bowl before him, a brilliantly braised and savoury-smelling chicken dish, fill to bursting with onions, mushrooms. As Braxton watched, Sixte took a modest handful of herbs and dashed them over the top of the dish until the green shimmered bright against the deeper reds and brown. He set a plate into his spot as well and did the same and took a seat after he'd lightly dusted off his hands, smiling.</p><p>"I've never had this," Braxton said, picking up his knife and fork, the former hovering over the dish. He began to cut himself a piece, spearing mushroom and vegetable.</p><p>"It's coq au vin. I started preparing it yesterday."</p><p>Sixte was watching him, his cheek leaning against his knuckles, his gaze soft as Braxton put the food into his mouth. He lit up at once, chewing vigorously, making quiet noises as he did. Sixte grinned, not touching his dish as he watched Braxton savour the first mouthful.</p><p>"Delicious! It's delicious, but—there's something else. I don't know this flavour." Braxton's fork moved in circles, drawing them in the air over the coq au vin. "I'm not certain it's a flavour. Remarkable. How can I explain it?" He struggled, fork moving as he sought out words. "It's warming. It's like someone poured something warm straight into my chest."</p><p>Sixte's mouth dropped open.</p><p>"It's delicious. And—there's that feeling. I'm sorry, I can't explain it well, I haven't had a dish like this before." Braxton knit his eyebrows and looked over at Sixte eagerly. "Is it some kind of spice?"</p><p>"S-spice," Sixte spluttered. "Spice... yes... yes, some kind of spice. I... it's a secret."</p><p>"Secret? Mmm, I see, every chef has a secret ingredient." Braxton huffed, but his eyes were alight as he set into the dish all the more vigorously than before. Sixte sat unmoving for several minutes, his hand on his chest, totally preoccupied by thought.<br/>
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Braxton paced to and fro in the castle hallway before the kitchen, tight with nerves. He was dressed in his finery—but over that was his cape woven of rushes. Sixte hadn't been able to talk him out of it, and his father would recognise him at once if he was wearing his regular clothing. He received answer to his missive and today was the day, the day when his father would arrive and when he—he <em>finally</em> would come to understand.</p><p>He hoped.</p><p>And then what? He found his life here remarkably pleasant, enjoyed Sixte's company more than he enjoyed anyone else's. And his food. Ever since the day when he made the coq au vin, that warming feeling had pervaded every one of the foods he had made. What spice was it? It was driving Braxton crazy and he'd asked about it more than once—but Sixte only blushed and looked away and Braxton couldn't figure it out.</p><p>He could think about that afterward. If... no, surely his father would come to understand.</p><p>He chewed the end of his thumb, gnawing at it ferociously with his teeth before Sixte poked his head out of the kitchens with a reproachful expression. "Braxton," he said worriedly, "you're going to hurt yourself."</p><p>"Ah. Hadn't even noticed I was doing so. Terribly sorry, Sixte... how's dinner coming?"</p><p>"Just about finished." Sixte's eyebrows pinched together. "...Do you want to try it?"</p><p>"I'm not certain. <em>Do</em> I?"</p><p>Sixte usually served him food with great pleasure, but he wore a difficult smile on his face. "It's not good, I will say that much. I don't enjoy it, and I doubt you will either, but you're welcome to try it," he said and waved Braxton in.</p><p>It <em>looked</em> good enough, but there were none of the delicious scents that wafted through the air usually when Sixte cooked, the flavours and seasonings, marinades and extra touches Sixte put into his food. Sixte cut a piece of meat from one of the pieces still cooking in the pot and held it on a fork in Braxton's direction. He blinked—but he leaned in to bite it off.</p><p>And coughed at once the taste hit the inside of his mouth.</p><p>"I thought so," Sixte said and sighed. "I didn't expect you to cough, though. Here, water."</p><p>"No, it's not... it's bland, but it's not just that?" Braxton wrinkled his nose. "It's rather bitter, isn't it? I can feel it right behind my eyes and nose."</p><p>Sixte stared at him as he often did these days whenever Braxton gave impressions on his food. Especially the dishes that warmed him right through, head to toe. Sixte hummed shortly after a moment and looked down at the food with a tinge of displeasure deepening the colour of his eyes. "It's probably not bitter," he murmured.</p><p>"Did you add another secret spice?"</p><p>"I didn't, I promised I'd leave it unseasoned," Sixte said with a small laugh. "Here. To cleanse your palate." He went to another dish and cut off a small piece of meat, feeding it to Braxton same as the first. It was soft and flavourful and he sighed in relief, that familiar warmth coursing straight through him.</p><p>"This is?" Braxton said, eyes bright.</p><p>"It's for another dish we're serving for breakfast tomorrow morning, but I had to start it tonight. It has to cook for a while, but I thought you would like it."</p><p>"It's delicious. I look forward to the finished dish."</p><p>"Mm. I'll sneak you a bit."</p><p>Sixte winked and, at that moment, one of the servants popped their head into the kitchen. "He's here, Sixte, Braxton," she said. Their plan wasn't so much a secret anymore, but all of the kitchen staff was wholly eager to help out. Braxton flipped his rush hood over his head and gave two thumbs-up before walking to the door.</p><p>"Here we go," Braxton muttered. Wicker Will shifted in the inside of his cloak as though he could sense something was about to happen and Braxton breathed deep to steady himself. It would all work out. One way or another, it would work out.</p><p>The taste of Sixte's food still sat on his tongue, the warmth solid and reassuring in his chest.</p><p>He walked down the hallway carrying that warmth and tucked himself into the hall just outside of the dining hall. The young master was entertaining his father, several others who'd been made aware of Braxton's circumstances. He was surprised at their support, touched, was sure that Sixte had something to do with it as well.</p><p>His father sat at the table, talking one thing or another, looking oddly aged and weary though he tried to keep a smile on his face. Braxton pressed himself out of sight as the servants began to carry out the covered dishes that would serve as the feast. He started chewing on his thumb again but quickly stopped himself, lest he spoil the aftertaste of Sixte's food from before.</p><p>To his surprise, he felt a brush at his elbow and Sixte was there.</p><p>He opened his mouth to question but Sixte shook his head, placing his forefinger up to his own lips. <em>Shh.</em></p><p>They watched intently as the dishes were uncovered, as the food was served, as Braxton's father began to fork the food into his mouth. The moment he did, the moment he started to chew he froze, fork still at his lips.</p><p>"My lord?" said the young master. "Is something the matter?"</p><p>Braxton's whole body shook subtly with tension, anxiety, but Sixte reached down to take his hand, gripping his fingers tight in his own. Though he ran hot, he found that Sixte's fingers were hot too, that they shook as his did and his dark eyes stared unblinkingly into the dining room. Braxton watched his father lower his fork slowly, watched him lower his face down into his palm, his elbow pressed to the table in an act he'd normally never permit himself.</p><p>"No," the man choked out, "no... no, perhaps something is the matter, I've made a terrible mistake—"</p><p>Something cracked and Braxton sagged against the wall, Sixte looking wide-eyed at him. Something that had been sitting heavy in his chest ever since that awful day finally broke apart and Braxton's face crumpled into a broken, relieved smile.</p><p>"My son, you see—I said something horrible to him. I made a terrible mistake, a misunderstanding and he could be dead and I wouldn't even know where to start to <em>find</em> him, I'm such a fool and at your kind lord's invitation and everything—"</p><p>Sixte moved his hand then, breaking it free of Braxton's. Braxton opened his mouth to ask <em>what</em> but Sixte pulled off the rush cape, relocated Wicker Will to his shoulder, and smiled down at Braxton. He seized him strongly by his arm and marched him through the door into the dining room as Braxton spluttered, not wanting his father to see him teary-eyed, shaken and emotional.</p><p>"It's all right," Sixte said, short and firm, "he's right here. Apologise properly to him."</p><p>He put both hands on Braxton's shoulders and thrust him forward, to his father's wide-eyed, stunned face.</p><p>"Br—Braxton," Kaleb stammered.</p><p>"...Dad," Braxton mumbled, timid and unsure. Sixte held him by the shoulders, though, so he couldn't step back or away and the chef squeezed them firmly.</p><p>"I'm—so sorry!" Kaleb's chair clattered backward as he stood and Braxton jumped. "I was so foolish. I didn't understand. I <em>should</em> have, every one of us know how you feel about food but somehow that day I was just so arrogant and pig-headed and—"</p><p>"Dad," Braxton said again, quiet and wide-eyed.</p><p>"It's not just my home, it's your home, and it was unacceptable for me to kick you out like I did. I could have caused you to die."</p><p>Sixte made a short, aborted noise behind Braxton's head. It sounded a little angry, felt somewhat like Sixte was thinking that Kaleb <em>could</em> have killed Braxton. That bitter taste behind his eyes and his nose made more sense gradually if he thought that Sixte was angry, that he had prepared the bland feast with those feelings, had let his anger bleed into the food and Braxton felt strangely small and humbled all of a sudden.</p><p>"I don't expect forgiveness, but please allow me to apologise. And... come back whenever you wish. Your mother and your sisters have been very worried about you this whole time as well."</p><p>Braxton slowly began to relax, shifting his hand up to his face, wrist smudging away the tears there. "All right... I accept your apology, Dad. Tell them that I'll be back soon... okay?"</p><p>Sixte's fingers tensed on his shoulders, then relaxed, never letting go.</p><p>"...Yes... yes, of course."<br/>
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Sixte was very quiet on their walk home, gazing straight ahead, his eyes obscured by his bangs. Braxton felt unsure and he wasn't used to feeling unsure but when he recalled the bitter taste behind his nose and then the warm one that coursed through him he couldn't help but wonder.</p><p>Secret spice, huh?</p><p>He wondered what Sixte was thinking about as they walked down the dim evening path toward Sixte's home. In fact, he couldn't take this much longer. Braxton wasn't used to keeping his questions contained and Sixte was so, so strangely silent. Him being quiet wasn't unusual but this was the first time there was some heaviness there.</p><p>"Say, Sixte?"</p><p>Sixte startled briefly and looked, wide-eyed, at Braxton. "Oh—I'm sorry. What is it?"</p><p>"What're you thinking about?"</p><p>There was a less blunt way of putting it, but it felt like it best just to get it out there. Sixte's mouth twitched and he looked away, his fingers drumming at thin air before he shoved them into his pockets. "N-nothing? Nothing much. Nothing I should be thinking about?"</p><p>Braxton furrowed his eyebrows. "Meaning?"</p><p>"I suppose I—I just... well..." Sixte was waffling over his words again. He did that a lot. Maybe not <em>as</em> much now, but he had certainly done so during their first couple of days together. "I'm... er... What—what are you going to do from now on, Braxton?"</p><p>Braxton slowed to a stop and so did Sixte. "Hm. That's a good question. I hadn't thought about it."</p><p>"'Hadn't thought about'—with things resolved, I thought that would have been the first thing on your mind." Sixte sighed, bringing his fingers to his temple.</p><p>"No, I was preoccupied. I was thinking about your secret spice."</p><p>It was harder to tell in the evening light, but he thought that Sixte flushed.</p><p>"My secret spice? I'm not telling you what it is," he mumbled, scuffing the heel of his shoe against the ground.</p><p>"No, you don't need to." Braxton took a deep breath and told himself to proceed with confidence. If it was Sixte, he would understand. As people of similar type, he would absolutely understand Braxton and Braxton would understand him in turn—he'd do anything he could to understand him and make himself understood. "I believe I've figured it out. So, want to hear my guess?"</p><p>He thought he heard Sixte suck in a deep breath. "...Go ahead?"</p><p>Braxton dared to step closer, his chin tilted up so that he maintained eye contact. Sixte's bangs were in the way but, if he angled his head just so, he could look underneath them at those dark, dark eyes. "Is it love? Your secret ingredient."</p><p>Sixte's lips twitched. They curved into a small, shy smile as he looked away. "Maybe."</p><p>"'Maybe'? Why 'maybe'? I'm right, aren't I?"</p><p>"Maybe."</p><p>"<em>Sixte</em>."</p><p>Sixte looked back at him and he moved his hand up to his hair, his fingers parting dark strands as he pushed it back out of his face and out of his eyes. He reached to Braxton's face, fingers pausing, before he dropped it down, settling it gently on his waist above his hip. "I'll tell you if you answer a question from me. 'Yes' or 'no', no matter what you answer I'll tell you."</p><p>Braxton found himself oddly nervous, licked his lips. "Ask away."</p><p>Sixte took a deep breath. He looked like he was steadying himself, and some uncertainty swam in his eyes, some deeper fear that Braxton didn't know the cause of but wanted to leap at and take down with due force. It was unacceptable that something should have hurt Sixte so. "Would you stay here with me?" he whispered.</p><p>Braxton shifted both of his hands up, cupped Sixte's cheeks with both of his palms. The tension left him and he sagged into Braxton's touch with a sigh of relief. "Of course," he said and pulled Sixte down closer, until he breathed over his mouth. "So, is the secret ingredient love?"</p><p>"More love than I know what to do with."</p><p>"Keep adding it to every bit of food that you make me," Braxton said with a grin, brushing a tiny kiss against Sixte's lips. "And I think maybe you could use it up... if we give it our whole lives."</p><p>Sixte laughed and wrapped both of his arms around Braxton's waist, kissing him quick and hot.</p><p>"Our whole lives. Mm. Sounds good."</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Cap-o'-Rushes: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sixte returned home, he paused in the doorway. A odour crept through his home and, unbidden, his sensitive nose wrinkled up. It smelled like—well, it smelled like burning. Burnt food.</p><p>At once, he knew what was happening.</p><p>With a wry smile, he brushed his hair back into its usual position out of his face when at home, hung up his coat, and walked quietly to the kitchen. Usually, when he returned home, Braxton would greet him first with a hearty, bombastic ‘welcome <em>home</em>, my darling!’ and seize him in a kiss that melted Sixte right down to his toes.</p><p>When he wasn’t at the door, that meant...</p><p>As he suspected, when he peeked in the kitchen he found Braxton. The red-headed man was determinedly scraping at a pot with a circle of iron wool, occasionally taking a moment to sigh a loud, forlorn sigh of disappointment.</p><p>“No luck?” Sixte asked his dejected back gently.</p><p>Braxton’s head snapped up and he turned, wide-eyed, to look at Sixte over his shoulder. “Oh! Welcome home!” he yelped, hastening to put his things aside. He bounded to meet Sixte, throwing his arms around his waist and nestling his face promptly into his chest into a tight <em>squeeze</em> of a hug. None of the higher-born peoples or nobles Sixte had ever encountered possessed Braxton’s sheer love of physical contact.</p><p>They also didn’t particularly possess his eccentricities and quirks, but that was all right by Sixte.</p><p>He combed both of his hands through mussed red hair, kissing the crown of Braxton’s head. “So?” he prompted, to his unanswered question.</p><p>Braxton sighed into his chest, his fists clenching in the back of Sixte’s shirt. “No luck,” he lamented. “As usual, these hands of mine are a curse when it comes to the culinary arts! I was born under a bad star, truly. I’ll never get it as long as I live.”</p><p>Sixte hummed sympathetically.</p><p>They’d been over this a number of times. Even when Sixte hovered by his side and tried to instruct him, <em>something</em> managed to go wrong. Braxton would get distracted by something, he’d mix up the spices, he’d turn up the temperature too high or too low, he just—had no attention span for the kitchen, rather than no culinary aptitude. He was too easily distracted and, Sixte thought, suited the act of partaking in a fine meal far more than he did preparing it.</p><p>“I think some day you’ll get it,” Sixte reassured him and swept his hair from his forehead, leaving a kiss on his temple next. Braxton peered up at him under the sharp slashes of his eyebrows, inscrutable, then a familiar smile appeared on his face.</p><p>“Some day, if I don’t mangle absolutely every piece of cookware you own,” he said, in a bright yet apologetic way as he eased from the hug. “I think I kept from ruining your pot this time!”</p><p>He had, thankfully, Braxton at least was quick to spot fires—though Sixte worried sometimes about said fires.</p><p>Sometimes, more like a lot of times.</p><p>“I’ll get something started now,” Sixte said, chest warming as he saw the familiar excited twinkle in Braxton’s eyes. For someone like Sixte, to have Braxton love his food so wholeheartedly and anticipate it so greatly was really his favourite thing when he came home.</p><p>But, to his surprise, Braxton shook his head in a grandiose manner, planted his hands on Sixte’s back and propelled him back to their living space. “Not yet!” he declared, strong-arming Sixte over to the couch. “You just got home. First—”</p><p>Two hands fell firmly upon Sixte’s shoulders from behind and he jumped.</p><p>“A massage, for the hardest-working man of the house,” Braxton finished with an authoritative sniff.</p><p>“Br-Braxton—”</p><p>“I’ll hear no arguments on the matter,” Braxton cut him off firmly. “I may not have culinary expertise, but I’m certain I can work some of these <em>knots</em> out.” He pushed his thumb against a tightly corded piece of shoulder muscle and Sixte sucked in his lips, eyes clenching tightly shut. “My <em>god</em>, man. Actually, this may take a while if all of you is like this...”</p><p>“I-I’ll just—”</p><p>“<em>Ah!</em> No! Sit.” Braxton pushed him back down firmly when he attempted to flee, ignoring or oblivious to Sixte’s beet-red face and stammering words. “You sit, you relax.”</p><p>Braxton really had no self-awareness, Sixte lamented with growing embarrassment as he felt breath ruffle his dark hair. His hands were warm and strong, gripping with a too-familiar surety that made the tips of Sixte’s ears burn. Braxton was humming to himself behind Sixte, of <em>course</em> unaware of the effect of his presence, thoroughly set upon his task.</p><p>When he could take it no longer, Sixte swallowed thickly, tilted back his head to meet Braxton’s eyes and whispered, “<em>Braxton.</em>”</p><p>Braxton stared at him, lips parting with surprise—and then <em>he</em> flushed bright red. An unusual event, for his face to match his hair, but thankfully he <em>could</em> be swift on the uptake if Sixte just gave the right, er, indications.</p><p>“Ah, oh, uh, I—” he spluttered, eyes wandering, before he gulped and tightened his hands.</p><p>He leaned over Sixte’s face and kissed him upside-down, his fingers sliding down to splay over Sixte’s chest. He kissed roughly, eagerly, and Sixte sighed in satisfaction, the coil of frustration in his stomach unwinding.</p><p>Perhaps <em>this</em> was his favourite thing about coming home.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Golden Stag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a hearkening back to the six swans bc wester was my favourite... there's mention of incest, but it's not the focus of this story</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there were seven brothers.</em>
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  <em>At one point, a malicious step-mother cursed all but one into the shape of swans—oh dear. This story sounds rather familiar, doesn't it? Let us start over.</em>
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  <em>......</em>
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  <em>Once upon a time, there was a lazy fourth prince.</em>
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  <em>He was so lazy he wasn't even troubled when he and his brothers were cursed to live out their days (save for fifteen minutes in the evening) as swans. Rather, he seemed to enjoy just drifting about aimlessly. When he was changed back to normal, the fourth prince kept up this lifestyle.</em>
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  <em>Long strolls, laying on grassy hills and watching the clouds, meandering pointlessly here and there...</em>
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  <em>That is what made up the fourth prince's days.</em>
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  <em>However, he was not an unkind prince. When strolling through the forest, he often happened upon animals that needed assistance. Trapped squirrels, fallen baby birds, even a stag caught once in a trap that eyed him with wary brown eyes.</em>
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  <em>Without fear and without hesitation, he helped if there was someone in trouble in his path—no matter who that may have been.</em>
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  <em>Occasionally, they were more than the simple animals that they appeared as. These enchanted creatures eagerly offered a boon to the fourth prince.</em>
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  <em>"Ah—that sounds troublesome, so I don't want it," he'd say. And he'd stroll off before they could even splutter out a protest.</em>
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  <em>All he wished for was to live out a peaceful life.</em>
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  <em>However, one day the first prince of the kingdom declared that they must find them a new number of knights and, like it or not, the fourth prince had to be present as well...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wester <em>yawned</em>.</p><p>It wasn't a quiet yawn. It wasn't a subtle yawn. It was a huge yawn that echoed through the tense room as the fourth prince opened his mouth as wide as he could and made the loudest noise he could. He even smacked his lips as he closed his mouth, gazing indolently forward with his knuckles propping up his cheek.</p><p>"Did you have to," muttered a voice to his right. "Did you really have to do that, Wester. Of course you did. <em>Of course</em>."</p><p>When he peered sidelong out of the corners of his eyes he saw the second prince, his elder brother Malt, cradling his head and groaning quietly to himself. He was making far more of a spectacle out of himself than Wester had, even <em>if</em> he'd totally attracted all eyes to where he was sitting.</p><p>He grinned smugly and tapped his forefinger against his chin, closing his eyes.</p><p>Herth, being the first prince, adapted to Wester's interruption of a very nice speech with a shrug and a careless smile. "Eh, with that being said, I'm sure we're all growing impatient like my brother here. Let's begin! Will the knights hopeful step forward as their names are called and present to us seven princes who you are, your achievements, and why you wish to be a knight for our kingdom."</p><p>With that, he took his seat again with a flourish, gesturing with one hand.</p><p>"I'm so tiredddddddddd," Wester grumbled quietly.</p><p>"Yeah, you're always tired, bro," Tamther the third prince said on his other side. "But you gotta be here. I mean. We're voting on these guys and if there was six of us what happened if we had a tie? Ruination. Damnation. We'd never figure it out. So here you are."</p><p>He patted Wester's shaggy hair.</p><p>"Besides," Malt said quietly, "this may also see a knight appointed to some of us personally. If you were to have a knight appointed to you, you would want to know at least something about them, wouldn't you?"</p><p>Wester shrugged.</p><p>In truth, this widely-advertised affair had multiple purposes. Ever since what happened with their step-mother, Herth aptly pointed out the fact that no-one had noticed the six princes had been changed into swans at all and that was a <em>pretty big thing to miss out on</em>. Despite Esque's best attempts at telling literally anybody without using words. Either the staff of the castle was wholly lacking or there'd been such staff put in place so that no-one <em>would</em> notice. In fact, that specially placed staff would deter others from noticing what had happened. Hence, the clandestine purpose of this was to find knights to replace the old guard. Clandestine, but the old guard had already been disposed of and so had numerous members of the staff of the castle... Herth wasn't one to waste time.</p><p>As expected of the heir apparent.</p><p>Still, it was dull! Not even the type of dull Wester enjoyed: the sunny dull of resting in the middle of a field of flowers or lounging on a bench by the pond.</p><p>He watched with glazed eyes as each and every individual—man or woman or otherwise—stepped forward. Some were well-known to the other members of the court or to the people of the town who had come to spectate the closest thing to a tourney so far this year. Some were from across the continent or the very ocean, varied and colourful folk of all walks of life. Many specialised in unusual weapons, could speak a number of languages, and rattled off their accomplishment and strengths.</p><p>As part of this, they would engage in mock-fights with members of the knights that Herth deemed still trustworthy. They put their skills on display in impromptu battles and some performed admirably and some fumbled and couldn't show themselves well at all.</p><p>Each of the princes had a long sheet of parchment with names on it and boxes to tick off and it was a good thing that Wester had Tamther and Malt's to peek at or he would've lost track of them immediately.</p><p>Herth kept looking Wester's way too when individuals were fighting, eyes wide and curious. Sometimes Wester would shrug in an 'it's OK' or he'd seesaw his hand back and forth or he'd cross his hands in an 'x' in front of him. Of course, he marked each on the parchment as well but he knew the first prince was taking into consideration his opinion of the battles.</p><p>As another name was called and Wester robotically rotated his gaze back down to the field below, his breath caught.</p><p>He perked up, lifting his chin, straightening out of his slumped posture.</p><p>Every one of his brothers was duly alarmed at the postural correction and at the sudden interest.</p><p>They quickly looked down to see who had snagged Wester's eyes so and Malt went "ahhhhhh" quietly in understanding. The man who walked forward was tall and muscular, with long, long hair bound in a dark brown braid behind him. Bangs fell in a fringe over one half of a handsome, though understated, face. Freckles smattered only his forehead (what they could see anyway) and he dressed in rich browns and dark greens, a holster keeping a spear on his back. He swept a brief bow and gazed upward with his one visible brown eye half-lidded.</p><p>"I want him," Wester said loudly.</p><p>The man, announced as Olea of Ustrya, stared with his mouth gaping open.</p><p>Malt put his hand to his forehead. Herth laughed. Tamther smiled helplessly. Esque moaned a series of embarrassed curses. Pembrook didn't react. Ashlin looked over the back of his chair like he wanted to leap it and run away and never come back.</p><p>"Your Royal Highness," spluttered Olea of Ustrya.</p><p>Quicker than his brothers had seen him move for some time, Wester stood and made his way quickly down the stairs from their high dais. He emerged onto the floor, his hand on his hip and a smile sitting on his lips. He snapped his fingers at one of the servants and gestured to the rows of weapons not far away as he walked closer to Olea of Ustrya.</p><p>Who squirmed in place. For a big, tall muscular man he was abruptly timid.</p><p>"Let's try you out," Wester said casually, sticking out his hand. The servant placed a familiar object there and he gripped the spear's shaft before spinning it smoothly to level at Olea of Ustrya.</p><p>Olea looked like he didn't know why he had bothered coming here to begin with.</p><p>"I think that assaulting one of the honourable princes is treason," he said in a smooth, deep voice. It would be smoother if it wasn't tinged with anxiety.</p><p>"No, when Wester picks a fight with you, you can totally throttle him," Herth shouted from the dais.</p><p>Olea of Ustrya didn't look reassured.</p><p>"Just do it," Malt said wearily. "I apologise that he's interrupted your introduction so rudely, but please do indulge him. This is a rare opportunity."</p><p>'It's rare he finds someone he finds hot enough to prompt him to move,' all of the princes thought.</p><p>Wester juggled his spear a little, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. Olea shifted, his boots scuffing on the floor, but he reached back to the spear in its holster, freeing it before assuming a fighting position. He moved slowly but easily, with a comfort with the weapon he held in his hands. Unusual. Wester didn't run into many other spear-users, not people who dedicated themselves to the weapon. He himself could use any weapon he put his hands on, but the spear remained his favourite.</p><p>"Then," said the herald uncertainty, "begin!"</p><p>Wester moved.</p><p>His spear cut through the air, whistling as it missed Olea's face by a hairs-breadth.</p><p>A few strands of dark brown hair floated down to the floor and Wester clucked his tongue. He hadn't meant to actually cut his hair. He was obviously rusty.</p><p>So he thought, but to the outside observer they'd never seen a person move so fast—especially not the fourth prince who had a well-known reputation for being the laziest prince in this or any country. Wester's style of fighting set Olea immediately on the defense was quick, his hands quickly shifting grip on the spear so that every motion and blow flowed without a second given in-between them for Olea to react.</p><p>Sweat beaded Olea's forehead, cheeks, sliding down to his jawline as he weathered the assault.</p><p>"Come on," Wester muttered and when he thrust his spear toward Olea's sternum the man finally parried it aside.</p><p>Malt watched the match closely, his hand cupping his chin. To an outsider it looked as though Olea found his second wind, pressing and forcing Wester into a defensive. But no-one could read Wester as well as his brothers and right now—</p><p>"Well, he's having a time, isn't he?" the seventh prince Esque commented dryly. "I was hoping that we'd see the rest of the people on the list before the end of the day but stupid Wester just had to <em>want</em> to fight for the first time in years, huh."</p><p>The fifth prince Pembrook hummed his agreement. "He isn't going to move for days after this," he observed.</p><p>"I hope neither of them actually gets hurt," the sixth prince Ashlin sighed.</p><p>'Chances are good,' Malt thought to himself, 'that one of them will get hurt.'</p><p>He observed as Wester took a chance, a small slip-up on Olea's part, stabbing toward his side underneath his arm, blocked at the last moment not by Olea's spear but by him slamming the back of his arm against the shaft of the spear and forcing it sideways. Malt quickly looked to Herth but Herth seemed thoroughly interested in the fight, hands cupping his chin and his fingers drumming his cheeks like he were a child watching a puppet show.</p><p>Malt sighed. Up to him, then.</p><p>He stood up, fair hair swaying, and shouted down, "Wester! Cut it out! That's enough!"</p><p>Wester, mid-stab of the spear, reversed the course of the weapon, spinning it smoothly and taking a step back until its long, wickedly sharp tip was pointed at the ground. "Huuuuh?" he said, looking up at Malt with an unsatisfied pout. Olea did his best to disguise that he was breathing harshly, watching Wester as though they might begin their bout back up at any moment.</p><p>"I asked for Olea of Ustrya to indulge you but you're taking advantage," Malt scolded and Wester wrinkled up his nose, spinning his spear some more, tossing it from hand to hand in completely unconscious, easy motions. "You've had more than enough of a chance to judge his fighting, so come back up here."</p><p>Wester <em>sighed</em> really <em>loudly</em>. "Fiiiiiiine," he grumbled and tossed his spear to one of the servants. They hadn't expected it and nearly dropped the weapon, spluttering. "Coming." As he turned toward the dais he paused, turned back toward Olea, and said again, "I want you. You can be my knight and that'd be pretty okay."</p><p>With that lazy proclamation, he climbed the stairs, collapsing in his seat as though exhausted.</p><p>None of them chose to comment on the fact that he'd barely broken a sweat.</p><p>"Well, looks like we got the battle portion out of the way," Herth said cheerfully, "so how about you introduce yourself to us, Olea of Ustrya?"</p><p>The man dipped a bow as he put his spear back in its holster. His breaths were slightly disordered and he took a moment to brush his hair back and tidy himself but he introduced himself in an unwavering, calm tone: "It is my pleasure to meet Your Royal Highnesses, and to even face His Royal Highness Wester in a bout." Wester, unseen to anyone else, smothered a silly smile into his hand. "I have specialised in a spear for many years and, though my accomplishments are lacking in notoriety, I've done good work for villages and towns. I also felled the wyrm of Landermicht just a month ago."</p><p>Wester mouthed "wyrm?" at Tamther. Tamther mouthed back "big angry dragon worm".</p><p>"Hmmm, I see," Herth said, nodding in understanding. "And what brought you to our kingdom? Ustrya is far from here, I think."</p><p>"That's correct," Olea said, oddly flustered, "but..." He turned his gaze slowly to Wester and Wester stared back at him. "I have always aspired to be a knight in the service of king and country, and I would be honoured to serve you, if given the chance."</p><p>Wester sunk down in his chair and giggled quietly, covering his face with both hands.</p><p>"Disgusting," Esque whispered scathingly.</p><p>All of the brothers agreed.</p><p>"Well, rejoin the others," Herth said with a smile. "Welcome to our kingdom, and we're honoured you've presented yourself to us. Thank you for your time, Olea of Ustrya, and doubly so for indulging our brother."</p><p>"'T-twas my pleasure," Olea stammered. He bowed deeply, then returned to the rest of the individuals at the far end of the hall.</p><p>"'Twas his pleasure," Wester mouthed at Tamther. Tamther rolled his eyes.</p><p>The herald called the next name, and the day carried on...<br/>
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In the bright morning sun, Wester snoozed away.</p><p>Though the pond in the gardens had been their home during the entirety of the time they were swans, Wester didn't avoid it. He didn't have any bad memories relating to the pond and listening to the water lapping gently was relaxing.</p><p>He rolled onto his side and smiled in his sleep, basking like a cat.</p><p>"Your Highness. Your <em>Royal Highness</em>," a tense, low voice said over his head.</p><p>Wester languidly opened up one of his eyes and looked upward at the man with the brown fringe of hair over one side of his face. "Oh," he said, gamely waving his hand in greeting, "Olea. G'morning." Then he closed his eyes again.</p><p>"It's not 'g'morning', Your Royal Highness. When I went to your rooms this morning you were already gone and no-one knew where you went," Olea said with a sigh. "As your knight, please wait for me so that I can stay beside you."</p><p>"You know almost all my spots by now," Wester murmured sleepily.</p><p>"Nevertheless, Your Royal Highness, 'twould be terrible if some miscreant were to ambush you in that small window of time I was not accompanying you," he fretted. Even though he knew that Wester was more than capable in terms of physically defending himself, he worried over Wester more than anyone in Wester's life had.</p><p>Pretending he was listening, Wester hummed and began drifting off.</p><p>"—ness. <em>Your Royal Highness</em>."</p><p>Wester blinked both eyes open. Olea had come around to the front of the bench and stood there with his hands on his hips, looming over Wester. He was as handsome as ever even with his face twisted in dismay and his brow puckered so that the position of his freckles changed</p><p>"Drifting off in the middle of the gardens is dangerous as well," Olea said.</p><p>"Ohh," Wester said, like it was news.</p><p>Olea sighed.</p><p>Things had gone just like this since Olea was chosen to be Wester's knight. Rather, Wester made a big fuss out of it to his brothers, the most fussing he had done for <em>years</em>—not since the brothers were trying to figure out who would get which room had he fussed so much. In the end, they'd given Olea as a knight to Wester just to shut him up, as he was so damned obnoxious about it.</p><p>Wester thought he should be offended at the fact that, on the day Olea came before them and accepted the light brown pin indicating his station as Wester's personal knight, Herth apologised to him very gravely. And told him that he could quit anytime he wanted.</p><p>Wester should have been offended but he'd mostly just been happy.</p><p>Ever since then, Olea had chased him around everywhere. Of course, it wasn't always chasing. Some mornings Olea was with him from the time he awoke to the early evening when they split apart for the day. He liked being with him all of the time, found Olea's nagging and fussing and worrying cute. Such a smartly-dressed, handsome, capable man fussing over Wester?</p><p>Heaven.</p><p>Mind, he was driven by duty and that was likely all that it was but Wester could smother the small twinge of dismay he felt when he thought about it too much.</p><p>"You've work today, Your Royal Highness," Olea said, noting quickly the position of the sun. He was always very good with keeping the time and schedules. He was a balm to all of Wester's brothers, who'd had to drag Wester half-asleep more than once to serious affairs and now could leave it in Olea's capable hands. "The knights are looking forward to your demonstrations."</p><p>"Ughhhhhhhhhhh," Wester groaned. He'd forgotten about that... ever since the time he'd had his bout with Olea, everyone <em>suddenly remembered</em> that laying around wasn't the only thing he did. As such, Herth had evilly scheduled him lots of time with the other nights demonstrating his skills as a fighter. And teaching... ugh!</p><p>"You always enjoy it once you get started," Olea said soothingly.</p><p>"It's so tiring," Wester mumbled.</p><p>"... Truly, it is troubling that you act like this when you so eagerly challenged me." Olea pressed his knuckles into his cheek with a frown, eyebrow furrowing. "Your Royal Highness, I know that I've asked the physician and you a number of times, but you truly are in good health?"</p><p>"Uh-huh. Spick and span."</p><p>"Hmm. That is good, but..."</p><p>Wester reluctantly levered himself upright, sitting slumped against the back of the bench. "Do I got any time before I gotta go do fighty things?" he asked, waving his hand.</p><p>"You do. A couple of hours. Is there something you wish to do?"</p><p>Wester stood, idly gesturing toward the woods that reached the edge of the castle grounds. "This way. Let's go, Olea."</p><p>"Wait, Your Highness—"<br/>
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The forest was one of Wester's favourite places. Sure, its strange abundance of enchanted or otherwise magicked creatures didn't make it as peaceful as he wished, but he still liked it very much. He led the way further into the forest, picking his way over branches, roots and plants with easy familiarity. Olea followed just behind him, walking in Wester's footsteps. Ever since they'd entered the tangle of trees he'd been a little quiet. Not that unusual, but Olea often had things to say.</p><p>One of the reasons why Wester liked him. Olea's voice was easy to listen to, and he always had one thing or another to talk about. Even if the main subjects as of late were worries about Wester's health or maybe his laziness was some manner of curse?</p><p>(It wasn't. He'd always been this way.)</p><p>Wester ducked a low-hanging branch rather than exert effort to move it out of the way, casually dodging back and forth and barely stirring the plant life. It smelled warm and peaty in the woods but there was the hint of something floral as they continued onward.</p><p>Eventually, they reached the small, enclosed field that served as Wester's prime napping spot. Few things disturbed him here. He found himself a bed of flowers to flop into and yawned as he folded his arms behind his neck. The only thing that kept him from falling asleep right away was the fact that Olea hadn't entered the clearing. No, he hung back and looked into it with widened eyes.</p><p>"Your Highness," he began uncertainly, "are you all right entering here?"</p><p>"Hmm?" Wester furrowed his brow. "Yeah? Why?"</p><p>"These are fairy grounds," Olea said. "Look. There's a fairy ring right over there." He indicated and yes, there was a circle of rather conspicuous mushrooms, but.</p><p>"Eh, it's fine. I come here all the time. Come on." He beckoned Olea and, with a difficult expression, Olea joined him reluctantly.</p><p>"The forest seems to like you very much," Olea said with a sigh. "I counted no less than three dryads that we just <em>strolled</em> right past."</p><p>"Ohhh." Wester closed his eyes.</p><p>"Not to mention—are you listening, Your Royal Highness?"</p><p>"It seems troublesome if I hear too much about it," he said plainly, "so I'm going to go to sleep. I don't want to hear about dryads or talking birds or magic squirrels."</p><p>Olea didn't say anything, but Wester thought he heard him laugh quietly.</p><p>Wester relaxed. He didn't sleep because Olea kept shifting, antsy in a magical fairy clearing. As long as fairies didn't just pop out of nowhere and start bugging the two of them, it was fine. Right? Right. Wester's brain began succumbing to sleep, heavy and warm and syrupy, and then something touched his head.</p><p>At first he thought <em>stupid fairies</em> but it was very much not a fairy and very much gloved fingers.</p><p>Very, very gently touching his unkempt, uncared-for hair.</p><p>Wester relaxed immediately, content to let Olea pet him while Olea thought he was sound asleep.<br/>
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If there was one aggravating thing about Olea, it was that there was one thing he would always refuse.</p><p>He was marvellously accommodating usually ("too accommodating to a lazy bum like you," Esque would say) but he would never, ever join Wester to eat dinner. He would not stick around past evening and Wester tried probing <em>why</em> once when Herth was in earshot and he got laughed at by the first prince and told that "hey, your knight has a life of his own too, you know".</p><p>He was going to get Herth assassinated for that because there went his chance to find out why Olea would never eat dinner with him.</p><p>They ate every other meal together (generally, if Wester could be roused) and dinner was always the best. Roast fowl had been strictly off the menu ever since they were changed back from swans, except on the days that Herth went out of the country and then it was time for <em>poultry galore</em>, but there was always the most sumptuous food. They'd even gotten several new cooks lately who introduced dishes that boggled their minds.</p><p>"What is this," Ashlin whispered one evening, holding his fork with a trembling hand, "it's <em>so good</em>."</p><p>It was so spicy it burned the rest of their mouths to bits but it had been delicious.</p><p>Olea was modest with what he ate and didn't indulge in the rich dishes so Wester wanted to treat him to a true feast. You know. Every once in a while. He deserved it, for being a good knight and a nice fellow. Very nice fellow. Handsome. Noble. Gentle. Sneaking head pats when he thought Wester was sleeping, hmph, how bold of him...!</p><p>Every time he remembered that his face simmered red and he would laugh to himself until Pembrook informed him nonchalantly that when he chuckled by himself in the hallway the servants would get freaked out.</p><p>Still.</p><p>One evening as Wester waved at Olea's departing back, he resolved he would find out why Olea never ate with him.</p><p>So, he tailed him.</p><p>As you do.</p><p>Just stalk your knight when they leave you for the night.</p><p>Olea lived somewhere off castle grounds, though he was <em>also</em> cagey about where his home was even though Wester was certain Herth knew it and just wouldn't tell him. Asshole. He dangled it over Wester's head like a carrot except Wester didn't jump for it, he just stared with an annoyed pout until Herth laughed at him and told him to stop obsessing over his poor knight.</p><p>He didn't obsess.</p><p>He was just—in love. That was all. He didn't know how people behaved when they were in love, he could never look at his step-mother (who cursed them) and his father and think them in love and Pembrook and Esque were in love but Pembrook was just silent and way too intense while Esque fawned and melted over everything he did and Wester never wanted a relationship like those two.</p><p>Unfortunately, it seemed as though his confession when he'd first laid eyes on Olea hadn't been at all effective. Wester thought about this as he followed Olea down one of the roads that left the castle and its grounds. Had 'I want you' not been sufficient? Should he have waxed poetic? Proposed? Ugh. He didn't want to propose and he hadn't had anything ready anyway... He also didn't like poetry, didn't want to waste his time buying flowers but maybe he should have. After he took Olea on for a knight, he definitely should've had something.</p><p>He was content enough with the pin on him, the mark that he was Wester's knight, but he wasn't content with that anymore.</p><p>Anyway, he didn't like secrets either.</p><p>...If he had some individual, a lover or a spouse, waiting for him at home with a meal prepared, leaning up to kiss Olea's cheek, Wester was going to just bury himself in the ground and never come out.</p><p>Further and further they went.</p><p>'He really lives on the middle of nowhere,' Wester thought.</p><p>Indeed, he lived very much on the outskirts. His house was more of a cottage, and Wester wondered again why he hadn't just taken up residence in the castle. He liked to think that they had suitable places prepared for the knights who wished to live in the castle, small but homely enough. Private. Then they'd be able to share evening meals.</p><p>It went against Wester's inherent lazy nature to tail someone and exert this level of effort and Olea better appreciate this.</p><p>(He probably wouldn't.)</p><p>Olea approached the cottage and slipped inside. It was dark in the windows but, when he went inside, Wester saw a candle being lit. Well, no-one was waiting for him. That was good, kind of. The fourth prince crouched down in the bushes outside, wondering again what an empty cottage had on Wester as far as company for dinner went.</p><p>His brothers had joked a few times that Olea would quit when he realised Wester's true nature was as lazy as they came, but... if Olea disliked him he absolutely wouldn't be able to handle it...</p><p>Wester handled rejection about as well as any young child did.</p><p>He sat in the bushes and contemplated marching himself up to the cottage when he heard the sound of a door opening. He frowned but the front door remained shut. The light inside had gone out but he could hear footsteps. In the gathering night, Wester stole up to the cottage and peeked around it. He caught a glimpse of Olea headed into a small wooded area behind it.</p><p>'...Suspicious.'</p><p>Oh well. If he'd come this far only to find out Olea was some magicked squirrel, Wester would deal with it.</p><p>He followed, quick and quiet. The forest rustled around him as he slipped into the trees and followed the sound of Olea's footsteps. He ducked and dodged under branches and nearly slithered his way forward at some points.</p><p>'Ah, so tired.'</p><p>He wanted to sit down and nap or go back and have dinner but thoughts of Olea drove him forward.</p><p>When he reached a break in the trees, he looked around and didn't see his knight anywhere.</p><p>'Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,' he thought, sinking against a tree trunk. A tree trunk that shifted behind him, one of its branches lifting, coiling through the air like a snake. Wester watched it impassively until it pointed off to the right. 'Oh.'</p><p>He gave the tree a thumbs-up and went right.</p><p>Further and further. The forest was growing darker but luckily the moonlight was bright tonight. It pierced even through tree branches and canopy leaves, lighting Wester's way. He thought he could hear footsteps up ahead.</p><p>Okay. Yup. He was done with stealth. It was exhausting to be sneaky. The fourth prince levered himself upright and moved quickly in-between trees, in-between branches that parted until he threw himself at some big creature.</p><p>...Not a person.</p><p>The stag reacted with a snort, rearing its whole body, antlers the colour of metallic gold glinting silver in moonlight. Wester squawked and went down, putting his arms instinctively over his head to protect himself from hooves but the stag's huge feet slammed down to either side of him instead of on his skull. He thought he heard it gasp but stags didn't gasp.</p><p>He peeked up through his fingers and saw the stag's wide brown eyes staring back at him, the fur of its forehead speckled with darker brown spots that stood out on its otherwise sleek, golden fur. Very familiar...</p><p>Wester pulled his fingers back together to block his vision and <em>sighed very loudly</em>.</p><p>"A-are you hurt?" an anxious voice asked from overhead. Olea.</p><p>"Uh-uh. Just tired. Why'd you have to come so far, Olea," Wester grumbled into the leaf litter. Ugh. He didn't want to stand up. So tired. What's more, his knight was evidently a stag sometimes. A huge, golden stag with golden antlers and soft, soft brown eyes.</p><p>...Hmm? Why did that feel familiar?</p><p>Oh well. He couldn't remember.</p><p>"I can't believe you followed me," Olea said anxiously. Wester looked up and the stag was hanging his head like an enormous, dejected dog. "I cannot believe you've seen me like this... I apologise. I understand if you no longer wish me in your service..."</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>The conversation was going somewhere Wester couldn't follow. He frowned in confusion as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, brushing himself off. The stag took several steps back, almost hiding amongst the trees and eyeing Wester doubtfully.</p><p>"A knight who turns into a stag come sunset?" Olea said bitterly. "There is not much use I can have. Were someone to attack the castle at nighttime, I would be helpless." Wester glanced at his big pointy antlers and doubted the statement. "Furthermore, it's strange, is it not? Frightening? Someone changing to human and animal and back?"</p><p>"Well, even I was a swan for, like, seven years, so..."</p><p>"...Huh?"</p><p>Wester blinked at the stag's confusion. "Huh? Oh. You came to this country after that didn't you? It was a whole thing. Me'n all my brothers except Esque were cursed into swans," he said. "You really didn't hear about it? It was a <em>thing</em>."</p><p>"No—I'm sorry," Olea stammered at Wester's disappointed face. "I have avoided being too much of a part of society for a while."</p><p>"No... s'fine." Wester sulked for a second, and then quickly recovered, "I mean. If you're looking for a kingdom that understands that you have to turn into an animal every day, you're in the right spot. No-one's gonna find it frightening. Especially not me."</p><p>"Then... <em>then</em>, will you also truly not perturbed if I tell you that we have met before?"</p><p>Wester blinked, took account of Olea who gingerly stepped from the cover of trees and approached. "Did we?" he asked.</p><p>"Indeed. If you do not remember then I am loath to tell you, but that I owe you my life is no exaggeration..."</p><p>Owe him his life? Hm? <em>Hm</em>? That seemed like a hell of a thing to say.</p><p>Wester groaned a little as he put one hand to his head, scrubbing furiously at his unkempt hair. Olea exhaled a tiny laugh but he didn't offer any more hints as he watched Wester.</p><p>"Perhaps you don't remember because it was a small matter to you, but it was very important to me."</p><p>Now that he thought about it...</p><p>"That stag from last autumn?" he asked and Olea's brown eyes sparkled. "Were you gold back then?"</p><p>"I was gold. I am surprised you did not remember."</p><p>"I was distracted by the fact that you were trapped and that some dick was putting traps on a forest that was on castle grounds," Wester huffed. Olea took a step closer and bumped his velvety nose against Wester's cheek, so abrupt that Wester gave him a very hard look. "That's pretty bold of you, knight."</p><p>Olea quickly raised his head, snorting through his nose in panic. "No—well—I apologise, I act far more on instinct in this form, that <em>was</em> bold of me—"</p><p>"Just kidding. I didn't mind. S'nice."</p><p>In fact, he was tamping down giddy laughter as he reached out both of his hands. He put his hands on Olea's neck and he sighed. Warm. He stepped close and hugged him around the neck, burying his face in his fur. Olea squirmed in his hold.</p><p>"Your Royal Highness— this is rather inappropriate," he muttered.</p><p>"I always wanted to hug you anyway," Wester said petulantly. "You started it."</p><p>"Is... is that so?"</p><p>"That's so."</p><p>Olea's quiet was awkward and he kept shifting his feet around but Wester ignored it. He'd finally figured out the truth and it wasn't anything as bad as what he was imagining. His imagining consisted of: Olea going home to a spouse who loved him very much. Absolutely horrifying.</p><p>"So, the reason that you became a knight?"</p><p>"...Yes, well, 'twas to repay my debt. No matter if I dedicate my whole life, I will spend it all by your side."</p><p>'That's the most romantic thing anyone's said to me,' Wester thought as he rubbed his cheek into Olea's thick neck fur. He wouldn't tell Olea because he didn't think that Olea meant anything more by his declarations than an intention to serve with everything that he had to offer. Which was honouring, humbling in a way, but it truly had been just another everyday occurrence to Wester. Hell, he'd even forgotten about it until this moment.</p><p>He let Olea the stag go, but not without a warm pat to his neck.</p><p>"Then stay by my side forever," Wester told him as he slouched and tucked his hands into his pockets. "And—if you don't want anyone else at the castle to know about the stag thing, we can have supper here together. Right?"</p><p>Olea's ears flicked upright in surprise. "Is that all right?"</p><p>"Yeah. 'Course. I can't cook, though, so uh..."</p><p>"Not to worry. I shall prepare you something." His face didn't lend well to it, but Wester thought he was smiling all the same. "And thank you... Your Royal Highness. I am glad that this conversation went differently from what I imagined."</p><p>"Mm..."</p><p>"...But please do not roam around in the middle of the night again."</p><p>"Eh—it was fine. Nothing happened."</p><p>"That is not the point..."</p><p>As was to be expected, Wester was thoroughly lectured for almost an hour before Olea saw him back to the castle.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
Olea loosened up some after that—which Wester wasn't certain was a good thing or not. For one thing, the knight was freer with his words than he'd been before. That was nice when he was saying good things about Wester, but less nice when he was lecturing him about his laziness.</p><p>(Wester didn't handle criticism <em>that</em> well.)</p><p>Still, knowing that Olea had become a knight for him... though he couldn't say he wanted to work <em>very hard</em> he admitted he might want to make an effort. Slightly. Slightly more of an effort than before to fulfill Olea's expectations of him and make him feel as though the man who saved his life was worth serving.</p><p>So when he was told he had work or things to do, he swallowed down his usual complaints. He forced himself to stand himself up and walk there with good posture and not wander this way or that along the way and cause Olea trouble.</p><p>A day where he was doing his best, Olea pulled him aside after lunch, sat him down and very seriously pulled off his glove to feel Wester's forehead and face.</p><p>"Your Highness, are you all right? You've been acting a little strangely," the knight said after he'd confirmed that Wester's temperature was absolutely normal.</p><p>"Spick and span. Why?"</p><p>"No... er..." Olea waffled over his words. Wester eyed him hopefully, secretly wanting praise for the fact that he was doing almost as much as a normal human being lately. "You've been rather motivated lately, I was worried you might have been overexerting yourself."</p><p>"What," Wester said dismissively, internally preening, "this is normal. No big deal."</p><p>"I... yes. Indeed. No big deal."</p><p>For some odd reason, Olea looked troubled for the rest of that day...<br/>
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Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a young boy and his sister. Their father left them in the woods, heeding the words of his second wife who advised that child abandonment was a great idea, especially when they came from the woman before her. No ulterior motives at all.</p><p>Though the children found their way back home the first time around, the second time they couldn't find their way out of the forest. Hungry and thirsty, the children roamed through the woods. The older sister, sensible enough, warned her little brother three times not to drink out of the tracks left by animals.</p><p>The first, the tracks of a fox. "Bacteria," advised his very scientific sister, "it's a thing. You could catch all sorts of things."</p><p>The second, the tracks of a bear. "There could be feces in there," said his sister again and decided on a pragmatic approach, "you don't want to drink poop, do you?"</p><p>The third, the tracks of a stag. "Just hang in there. The water's gross, okay? Let's find a river."</p><p>But the boy, so thirsty, couldn't bear it and drank. He turned into an enormous stag which, admittedly, his sister wasn't expecting. But, it worked out well enough. He lifted his sister into his antlers and carried her through the woods until they found themselves a spot where they could survive.</p><p>There they grew up in the midst of the woods.</p><p>As the boy grew older, he worked diligently to figure out a way to break or control his curse. He eventually realised he could turn into a human for a little while should he just focus long enough. It was exhausting, however, but gradually he was able to be a human for longer and longer.</p><p>Eventually, it so happened that an old woman discovered the two who lived in the forest. She was very understandably concerned for one dirty teenage girl and her big stag companion and resolved to help them. She pretended not to notice them, especially the girl who watched warily from her treehouse built up high and knew better than to trust people when she couldn't even believe in her own father.</p><p>The old woman pretended that she couldn't make a fire to hopefully draw down the girl—but then she burned herself for real.</p><p>The girl quickly made her way down the tree to her hidden brother and the two of them gingerly approached the old woman. Thankfully, she was kind and gentle to them and the three of them soon travelled out of the deepest part of the forest and lived together in her cottage.</p><p>As is the way, a prince caught sight of the girl and fell in love with her. The brother was pretty sceptical and, as he said, "You've never even talked to her," when he came to the cottage to try to ask for her hand.</p><p>But... eventually, they did fall in love.</p><p>As the brother put it, "I can't believe you found someone else who loves science stuff as much as you."</p><p>As they lived happily ever after and she went to-and-fro from castle to woods, the brother expanded his scope. He travelled out of the forest and explored, acquainting himself with his country for the first time. He travelled far and wide and honed his skills with the spear (which he had originally picked up for fishing but it worked for fighting pretty well) and lent assistance to any person he came across.</p><p>But... One day, while he was tiredly searching for a place in the forest as a stag to rest his weary body, trap snapped tight on his leg.</p><p>He resolved to spend a very painful night alone until the morning, when he could hopefully gather his strength enough to turn human...</p><p>But a tall, lanky man appeared, trees parting for him. He was unkempt and tired-looking in appearance and he yawned as he looked around, gaze passing over the stag before he seemed to realise the stag was actually there. The stag tensely watched him, ready for the worst. People had chased him as a golden stag before, coveting his pelt.</p><p>The man frowned, scratched his head, and approached him. To the stag's great surprise, he knelt and <em>tsk</em>ed at the trap clamped on his leg. Then, with his bare fingers, he pried the jaws of it apart, freeing the stag's leg just long enough for him to stand and quickly take a few hops away.</p><p>"No magical boons or talking at me?" asked the man with a sleepy laugh. "Well, good. That'd be troublesome. Anyway, take care of yourself, deer."</p><p>He knelt down next to where the trap had been. He dug through the leaf litter for the chain of it and muttered tiredly to himself as the stag watched, frozen, heart hammering.</p><p>Then he fled quickly through the trees.</p><p>However, he would not forget about the man who saved him...<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
"Pembrook."</p><p>"Hm," his younger brother answered absentmindedly. As usual, Pembrook was to be found in his office surrounded by a veritable tower of books. These days Esque was often in here so you had to be careful when you knocked on his door otherwise Pembrook might kill you but today was safe.</p><p>"Hey," Wester greeted casually, strolling into his office and throwing himself into one of the chairs in front of his desk. He reached out and dropped a small leather satchel. "Got you a present. Well. Got you a present for Esque."</p><p>Pembrook paused. He was reviewing some extremely complicated-looking documents but he interrupted his work as quick as that to snatch up the satchel with the scaled hand leftover from their curse, peering inside.</p><p>"Ah," he murmured, "star candies. Thank you, Wester. This will make a nice surprise."</p><p>Wester gave him a thumbs-up. "And I had a question for you."</p><p>Pembrook lifted both of his eyebrows at Wester. "For me? What would that be?"</p><p>"So you're neck-deep in romance right now... how do you make your feelings obvious for someone who doesn't notice?"</p><p>Pembrook just gave him a very long, long look.</p><p>"...probably not the best question for you to answer, huh. Got it. Esque didn't notice for years and years and years, after all." Wester scratched his chin with his forefinger, nose wrinkled.</p><p>"I can only suggest being upfront," Pembrook replied.</p><p>"I don't think there's anything subtle about 'I want you', though." Wester kicked his legs slightly as he draped himself sideways in the chair with a groan. "I have to say 'I love you'? Just like that?"</p><p>Pembrook's mouth twitched. He was definitely biting down laughter at his elder brother, how rude. "That seems best, in your situation," he said coolly. "But I don't know that I would worry about it all that much." He dug into his coat and checked his pocketwatch. "It may work out before you know it—speaking of, it is time for you to depart, Wester."</p><p>"I haven't even been here five minutes."</p><p>"Depart, Wester."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah..."</p><p>As usual, Pembrook's romance was number one. Wester saw himself out with a careless wave.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
It was a little embarrassing to go up to Olea and say in an upfront manner 'I love you', though. Perhaps that meant that Wester wasn't ready to be in love? He was still frightfully lazy, though he thought that he was getting better day by day.</p><p>He was certainly doing better than he <em>had</em> been, so much so that Malt had stopped him and Olea one day and gravely said to his knight: "I cannot how much more like a human being Wester has become. On behalf of myself and all of the others, you have our thanks, Olea."</p><p>Wester scratched at his ear throughout the whole thanking, making faces at Malt—he didn't even notice the way that Olea's expression had closed off before he smiled and said, "No, it was His Highness's efforts, truly."</p><p>They all made a big deal out of nothing. Jeez.</p><p><em>But</em>, it was likely true he wasn't ready yet. He would have to make more efforts. He had no idea when to determine if he was ready to make a confession or not but he hoped that in time he would simply feel that it was the right time to do so.</p><p>—Be a man worthy of a knight, indeed.</p><p>"Your Highness."</p><p>Wester grunted as he surfaced from his thoughts, looking over at Olea. They sat together in what was officially Wester's 'office', though had been so ill-used there had been an undisturbed layer of dust over everything when Olea arrived. He thought of it now no more than a glorified tea room for tea time or snacks, but he had actually started to help out, insofar as reviewing several documents for Herth pertaining to knights and training.</p><p>"Shall I call for more tea?" Olea offered.</p><p>"I'm good, I think. Thanks, though."</p><p>Again—</p><p>Olea had a strange expression on his face, mouth a tight line. Usually it appeared for a blink but today it remained. He flexed his hands slightly, fingers pressing into his palms. It was too the point Wester's throat tightened up with concern and he straightened up in his seat unconsciously.</p><p>"Is—is something—" before Wester could squeeze out the question, Olea took a step toward him.</p><p>"I am <em>very worried</em>, Your Highness," Olea bit out. Wester shrank back in his chair, fearing he was in trouble for something. "I am worried that I will soon lose my place here. What use do you have for me if you no longer need my assistance for anything you do? Were you to be attacked, I fully admit that you are capable of defending yourself. I—"</p><p>"Um," Wester squeaked.</p><p>"I do not know what my purpose is, if I cannot do anything for you," Olea said quietly.</p><p>"Well, I mean, you're a knight so you shouldn't have had to drag me around like you were doing anyway..." Wester stammered out.</p><p>"I didn't mind. I don't mind anything, so long as it's being of some use to you. I— Your brothers contribute your change to me, but that is not the case. You have, of your own accord, become more proactive. More driven." Olea breathed out slowly, loosening his clenched hands. "I feel as though I have been given everything between the two of us and I've no way to repay you for any of it. You could carry on without me and you would be all right."</p><p>Wester stared at him as his mind slowly turned over the words. "...Well, it is because of you?" he said. Was this the right timing? Well, it wasn't going to get much better than this. Wester truly was terrible at figuring out this whole 'romance' thing. "My changing, I mean. My brothers say it because it's true. I didn't really have a reason to change before. Man, I haven't even changed enough yet."</p><p>Olea looked at him sceptically. Rude.</p><p>"I'm trying to be worthy enough to tell you that I love you," Wester said, shrugging. "That's all. S'the only reason I want to work at all harder than I used to. Selfish, right?"</p><p>"What—I—pardon?"</p><p>Wester pouted his lips and folded his arms in front of his chest, foot jiggling under the desk. "I was waiting until I was better to tell you that I loved you, but my plans are ruined now." He <em>sighed</em>. "Ughhh. I'm tired now, I'm going to sleep."</p><p>He wasn't, of course, but it made Olea splutter and snap out of his trance so it did its job.</p><p>"Your Highness... I'm just a knight. Barely a knight! My curse was something I did to myself as a foolish child," Olea said quietly, nervously. His cheeks tinged red as he cast his gaze down, tugging at his fringe with his hand. "I truly have nothing to offer you. No reason to give you to keep me with you."</p><p>"Man. I don't need anything." Wester threw his arms unceremoniously across the desk and pressed his face down on its surface as he slumped over it. "I just like you. I just like listening to your voice 'n when you sit next to me or fuss over me or... whatever. Anything. We don't even need to do anything together, I just like being with you. I even like it when you're a stag. You're fluffy and warm."</p><p>"Highness—"</p><p>Wester sighed, disappointed, into the desk. That was it, right?</p><p>"...Wester."</p><p>Wester jerked his head up and Olea leaned in and their lips connected in a soft kiss. Wester's sluggish brain halted for several long moments and Olea pulled back just a bit. They were close enough that Wester could see a glimpse of his other eye underneath his fringe of hair, both brown eyes watching him for his reaction.</p><p>"...So. Does that mean you love me too?"</p><p>Olea exhaled a startled laugh. "I would have thought..." He paused, shook his head and amended, "That was forward of me. You even told me your feelings. I love you too, Wester. If you're all right with me, then... please allow me to stay by your side."</p><p>The relief loosened his shoulders, his breath, a full grin breaking over his lips.</p><p>"Of course I'm all right with you. I chose you right from the start."</p><p>How quickly his foolish knight forgot! But Wester would not let him forget. No, Wester would never let him want for any other place to call home than the place by his side.<br/>
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</p><p>THE END</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>olea's name is pronounced olay</p><p>like the soap</p><p>lmao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Golden Stag: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I hate winter,” fourth crown prince Wester mumbled nasally.</p><p>Olea of Ustrya, former boy-turned-stag-turned-boy-hit-puberty-sometimes-stag and current knight to the fourth prince in question, smiled slightly with sympathy. His soft brown gaze took in Wester, a knit cap pulled low over his ears, a scarf bundled around his neck, so thickly padded that it was a miracle he could tromp around.</p><p>“We could go back to the castle,” Olea suggested gently, but Wester grumbled something indistinguishable through the scarf. “Pardon?”</p><p>“You’re just tryin’ to not have me over to your place,” Wester said accusingly, fixing him with a heavy-lidded stare.</p><p>“Not at all! Truly.”</p><p>It was true, though, and he wondered how such an absentminded man was (at times) so very sharp. He’d worried the entire time about having Wester come along—not because he didn’t want him to come, but because there had been heavy snowfall all day which made trekking along to Olea’s modest home an absolute battle.</p><p>Wester swore as snow slipped into his boot, shaking it to shake out the melting cold—and the boot sailed off to <em>plop</em> in a bank.</p><p>He was left standing there, sans boot, frowning over his scarf as he held his socked foot away from the snow.</p><p>“You have perfect balance as usual, Your Royal Highness,” Olea admired him, but Wester just gave him a flat look.</p><p>“Can you get it?”</p><p>Olea, chuckling, did so, fetching the boot and trying not to fidget when Wester planted both hands upon his shoulder for balance. He slid the boot on reverently, so reverently that when he straightened up, Wester was giving him that look that meant he thought that what had just happened was weird but he didn’t want to have to deal with the troublesome task of mentioning it.</p><p>“You reminded me rather of the young lady Cinderella just now,” Olea said mildly.</p><p>“Ugh!” Wester groaned. “Why you gotta bring up politics and news?”</p><p>“I think it’s quite romantic how he found her with one of her shoes,” Olea said.</p><p>“Well, <em>I</em> think she wasn’t the only size seven in the kingdom,” Wester retorted dryly. “For all he knows, guy’s married a shark whose gonna eat up all his gold and jewels.” He flapped his hand open and shut to indicate how, exactly, she was going to munch away a prince’s wealth. “Or curse him to be a swan. Not that that was so bad.”</p><p>“My master,” Olea sighed, “your talents go to waste with you listing about a pond all day.”</p><p>Wester looked pleased as punch, a thin snicker creeping out from behind his scarf, and Olea tried not to let his instinctive blush creep up over his face at the prince’s sheer pleasure. He shook his fringe more over his features, clearing his throat delicately and offering Wester his arm. A mittened hand snapped around it at once, quick as that, tucking into his elbow securely.</p><p>“The listing was the best part,” Wester said as they continued on through the snow. “Didn’t like eating bugs and stuff that much, but just floating there... yeah. That was good.”</p><p>His expression was content with reflection.</p><p>“Were you still a swan, I doubt we would’ve been able to meet,” Olea murmured.</p><p>Wester squinted thoughtfully and then shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I still would’ve found you. Saved you. Somehow. Apparently all the forest animals owe me or whatever.”</p><p>“Because you’re always saving them.”</p><p>Wester grumbled something about magical boons being a ‘pain in my feathered ass’. Olea, struck by him, paused as they reached the cottage. He stopped Wester with a touch and leaned in, gently brushing a kiss over his reddened nose. For a moment, Wester had a rare expression of surprise on his face and then his face crinkled with a giddy grin.</p><p>“What’s that for?” he asked eagerly, as if looking for another.</p><p>Olea wondered how he had <em>ever</em> misunderstood Wester’s feelings for him. When he was so lazy one moment and then <em>click</em>, as though flipping a switch, abruptly motivated.</p><p>“I just thought about how wonderful you are,” Olea said softly. “Come, let us get inside and warm up.”</p><p>“Hmm<em>mph</em>—by the fire, or you gonna warm me up yourself?”</p><p>This time Wester was smirking, his hooded eyes still as usual but Olea thought they looked rather sly. He could feel a blush warming his face all over again, coughing.</p><p>“Wh... whichever my prince desires,” he managed.</p><p>By the way Wester grabbed at his butt, snickering, and then jogged to the house—abruptly dexterous in the snow—that was assuredly the right answer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Three Little Pigs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is my most recent one... i got inspired right before bed and hammered the whole thing out, like, last night</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time there lived three little pigs—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know the tale, don’t you? By the hairs on their chinny-chin-chins and so on, these silly creatures built houses from straw and twigs, very easily blown over by a hungry wolf.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Resistant to the idea of being eaten (as you would be), they all crammed themselves into the third little pig’s brick house and prepared to meet the wolf who, starving and desperate, had hunted them the whole way. When he climbed up to the roof searching for a way in, one of the little pigs had lit a fire under a pot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When the wolf came tumbling down the chimney, he fell straight into the pot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But, as it turned out, today he wouldn’t be eaten by the three little pigs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He leapt from the boiling water, howling all the while, and burst through their door, streaking into the forest...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Meriwether woke to a commotion in the forest.</p><p>A shrill cacophony that offended the boar’s ears and made him grumble into the bedding on which he slept. He tried covering his ears but it worked to keep the sound out about as well as it had keeping the sounds of pigs building houses (imagine! pigs in houses!) the last few days. It punched its way straight into his head.</p><p>Meriwether grumbled some more, grinding his face into the assorted furs and fabrics before rolling upright. His appearance today was that of a man, looking barely older than a boy. Many days he allowed himself to remain in his bestial boar form, lounging about as a predator few others would dare cross.</p><p>He had no reason for his shifts, not really, aside from whims and fancies.</p><p>Today’s fancy was starting to morph into returning to his massive form and bowling through the trees to knock down the source of the commotion.</p><p>But, as it was, he needn’t have worried—for the commotion came to him.</p><p>Barrelling through the trees, howling fit to burst, a wolf exploded into his clearing. Meriwether would’ve been more concerned about it if the wolf’s body wasn’t wet and steaming and if his howls didn’t sound so miserable.</p><p>The wolf’s whirling blue eyes focused on him as he stumbled on his paws, then leapt straight into the crystalline lake that Meriwether made his home by.</p><p>He scrunched up his nose at the smell of burnt skin and fur and stood up, approaching the lake warily. His hands plopped on his hips as he looked at the sorry mound of wolf trembling in the middle of the lake, keeping himself as submerged as possible, the water sloshing around him.</p><p>“Well, never had this happen before,” Meriwether said dryly to the wolf. The shivering beast didn’t seem to hear him, tongue hanging out as he panted for air. “You’re a sorry state, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Y-yo-you’d be too,” the wolf managed, his teeth chattering, “i-if you’d been dro-dropped into a b-boiling pot!”</p><p>“That sounds unpleasant,” Meriwether acknowledged and sat, cross-legged, on the edge of the lake. Looks like he’d be getting his drinking water elsewhere for today, he thought, not enjoying the thought of drinking liquefied burnt wolf.</p><p>“U... ‘unpleasant’! Y-yy-you... you’re m-mocking me...!”</p><p>He sounded furious but Meriwether, unbothered, shook his head.</p><p>“Wasn’t me who put you in a pot,” he said. “Stay in the water a bit, I’ll be back.”</p><p>The wolf glared after him as the boar trotted away, disappearing among the trees. Meriwether found himself with a drop of sympathy for the wolf, who obviously hadn’t expected for things to happen as they did. Meriwether doubted he’d expect being dropped in a pot either.</p><p>Meriwether suspected something with the pigs. Annoying triad of pests, but they didn’t mess with the boar of the forest so he ignored them as well, at least for the time being. They would’ve been an inviting snack for a starving wolf but that had clearly backfired.</p><p>He gathered plants and berries and made his way back to his clearing. The wolf was still in the lake and he flinched when Meriwether emerged, glaring petulantly at him and baring his teeth. He didn’t make an intimidating sight, not when he was sopping wet and still trembling miserably. No, he was thoroughly pitiful and that on it’s own was enough to melt even Meriwether’s heart.</p><p>“No need to growl,” the boar said. “I brought you herbs. Owl taught me, it’s good for burns.”</p><p>He started to chew a poultice as the wolf slunk toward the lake’s bank, movements ginger. As Meriwether glanced at him, he seemed to shift until what pulled itself up on the bank was a man, albeit a man with a wolf’s ears and tail. He was surprisingly small and Meriwether realised he was just a juvenile, only a few years into adulthood and still growing yet. He had short, flyaway silver-and-black hair in his humanoid form and that distrustful look remained as he glared at Meriwether.</p><p>His skin was also bright red. Ouch.</p><p>Meriwether offered the poultice on a wide, flat leaf and the wolf snatched it up without a word of thanks.</p><p>Shrugging, the boar picked himself up and draped himself back into his nest, intending to nap and catch up on the lost hours of sleep.</p><p>He could hear tiny sounds, pained and unhappy, as the wolf smeared the poultice on—but at least he was using it.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>Meriwether rethought being kind to the wolf only when he woke up with a start and found the wolf in question hanging over his arm, mouth open and sharp teeth glinting as he prepared to bite into skin. He stared at him from his prone position and exhaled a snort so loud that the wolf leapt back with a snarl, body tensing and hands upraised. He’d forgotten about his burns, for just as quickly he curled in on himself.</p><p>“You make medicine for a fellow forest creature,” Meriwether said flatly, “and he tries to eat you while you’re napping. Hospitality ain’t worth crap ‘round here.”</p><p>“I—!” the wolf started, defensive, and then turned his face to one side with a stubborn expression.</p><p>“I eat wolves,” Meriwether said, “and you’re already barbequed, so don’t tempt me.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>barbequed</em>,” the wolf snarled.</p><p>“Hard-boiled, then.”</p><p>“You’re turning this into a <em>joke</em>?”</p><p>Meriwether shrugged as he sat up, eyeing the wolf narrowly. “You want me to take you trying to eat me seriously?” he asked and the wolf snapped his mouth shut. “I’m Meriwether, the boar. And I’ve taken down much bigger wolves than <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“...Nova.” The wolf seemed to realise how in over his head he’d gotten and his ears drooped. “I won’t try to eat you again.”</p><p>“You won’t.” Meriwether yawned and stood up, shaking himself all over and flicking out his short, tufted tail. “You stay here and sit and I’ll bring you something to eat if you’re that hungry.”</p><p>Nova gave him a disbelieving look but didn’t say anything when Meriwether disappeared into the brush.</p><p>When he returned and chucked a huge snake and several sizeable lizards to Nova, the wolf’s eyes bulged before he snatched up the snake with his hands. He tore into it ravenously, devouring the food like he’d never seen food before and Meriwether watched him with bemusement. He cracked an egg open against his short tusks and poured it into his mouth, chewing pensively as he observed Nova’s frantic consumption.</p><p>“It’s not even winter yet,” he remarked, “and you’re already starved. Where’s your pack?”</p><p>“Gone,” Nova said shortly in-between bites, licking off his fingers. “Chased out in a territory fight. The other wolf pack missed me in the process.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>He ate every bit of food that Meriwether had brought back for him and then relaxed, slowly laying himself on his belly on the grass. He heaved a tired sigh, closing his eyes with his head pillowed on the least-burned part of his arm he could find.</p><p>Nova’s eyes snapped open just as it looked like he’d been drifting off and he stared at Meriwether with dark suspicion.</p><p>“Yeah?” the boar prompted.</p><p>“You’re a pig too,” he said mistrustfully. “You’re probably just like them.”</p><p>“The ones building houses?” Meriwether scoffed. “Not at all. I’m a <em>boar</em>. I have nothing in common with no-tusked pink house-building pigs.”</p><p>Nova continued to stare at him suspiciously.</p><p>“I was hospitable,” Meriwether reminded him and Nova winced.</p><p>He coiled his big silver-and-black tail around himself, muttered something into the ground, and shut his eyes. It didn’t sound like an apology and Meriwether was half-tempted to force one out of him, but he shook his head and stood up.</p><p>As he trotted off into the woods, he felt Nova’s eyes following him.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>“Afternoon, fellas.”</p><p>Before the brick house’s front door sat an enormous boar covered in wiry, dark-brown fur, staring with beady eyes down at the door and the pig gaping from it. He was standing on his hind legs, disgracefully, without even taking on another form.</p><p>“Meriwether,” squeaked the third little pig. “What, ah, brings you all the way out here, cousin?”</p><p>“Don’t remember us being related,” Meriwether said, “but whatever. Heard you’re eating wolves now?”</p><p>“Only when they try to eat us,” snorted the second little pig from further back in the house.</p><p>Ignoring the comment, Meriwether tapped his front hoof thoughtfully against bricks. “Sturdy house you got. Just like a human’s house, ain’t it? Do you want to be human now, <em>cousin</em>?”</p><p>“No,” the third little pig muttered, avoiding his stare, “not really.”</p><p>“Then why you building a house?”</p><p>“To keep us from being hunted by wolves!” called the first little pig, frustrated. “Obviously!”</p><p>“Dunno. Seems pretty human-loving to me.” Meriwether stared at the house. “I don’t like those much, you know.” Across his right flank curved a long and vicious scar, one that he now itched at absently with a hind leg. “Don’t like humans living near my woods.”</p><p>“Are you threatening us?” the second little pig asked incredulously, popping his head out of the door to stare up at the boar.</p><p>“Threatening you? No. Just telling you what I don’t like.” Meriwether peered purposefully down his snout. “Did you have a meal of wolf?”</p><p>“Just wolf broth,” said the first little pig dryly.</p><p>Meriwether stood on four legs, casual as you please, and headbutted one of the sides of the brick house.</p><p>The entire structure shook violently, sending down a rain of pebbles onto the three little pigs’s heads. They clutched at one another with squeaks and squeals of fright as their home wobbled dangerously before finally stilling.</p><p>“Pigs don’t live in houses,” Meriwether said grimly. “They live in the woods and they hunt and are hunted like every other thing in the woods. Hide if you want and play pretend-human if you want, but I’ll come knocking again soon ‘cause I don’t like humans near my woods. So fix it, ‘fore its too late.”</p><p>He left them shaking violently, clutching each other, and paused as he was about to re-enter the forest.</p><p>The four-legged wolf Nova was peering suspiciously out at him from behind a tree. “What did you do that for?” he asked warily.</p><p>Meriwether looked over his shoulder to see the front door of the brick house slam shut. “Pigs shouldn’t live in houses,” he said flatly. “It’s not natural.”</p><p>He surprised a bark of laughter from the wolf, who tentatively followed him into the forest.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>“Heard ‘em call you the ‘big bad wolf’,” Meriwether told Nova over a meal of carrion and reptiles. The wolf stopped eating and stared at him in surprise. “You don’t look too big, though.”</p><p>“When did you hear that?” he spluttered.</p><p>Meriwether, an obligate eavesdropper, shrugged. “Birds chatter,” he replied. “You should listen to ‘em sometime too.”</p><p>“Nothing big or bad about me,” Nova said, glowering down at his meal. “I couldn’t even blow their house down.”</p><p>“It’s made of bricks.” Meriwether waved his hand. “Not any ol’ sneeze is gonna bring that place down.”</p><p>“I didn’t <em>sneeze</em>.”</p><p>“Sneeze, blow, it’s all the same in the end.”</p><p>Nova looked like he was going to argue but, giving up, the wolf threw his hands up with an exasperated groan. His burns were healing nicely and now he could move relatively easily without wincing all the time. “You’re crazy,” he exclaimed. “Taking care of a wolf, when you should really be siding with pigs!”</p><p>“They’re not my kind of pig,” Meriwether sniffed. “Too pink and human-like.”</p><p>“You’re <em>absurd</em>.”</p><p>Perhaps he was. Meriwether thought about it a while after but never came to a proper conclusion.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>“I think it’s more absurd for pigs to live in houses,” Meriwether remarked to his companion days later. They strolled through the woods, Meriwether taking the time to show Nova his usual hunting spots, the prime places to dig up roots and tubers (which Nova politely but firmly turned down) and the best mushroom log this side of the woods.</p><p>“Again with that?” Nova narrowed his blue eyes.</p><p>“It is,” Meriwether insisted.</p><p>“Maybe we should be like them. Build houses. Then maybe it’d be easier to live.” Nova stared through the forest’s trees, a dark cast over his face.</p><p>“No. You’d be just like a human,” Meriwether said. Disgust and hate crept into his voice and Nova’s ear flicked in surprise. He stared sidelong at Meriwether, just a bit shorter than him in his humanoid form, lips parted. “I don’t like them.”</p><p>Nova slowly closed his mouth. “I didn’t think you hated anything that much,” he said. “You didn’t even seem that mad the other day when you hit their house.”</p><p>Meriwether blinked. “I was mad,” he said, raising his chin. “Otherwise I wouldn’ta done it.”</p><p>Nova sighed.</p><p>“I’ve been hunted before,” Meriwether said. “It’s not something you forget, Nova.”</p><p>Nova’s gaze shifted and he gazed down at Meriwether’s side. His clothes covered it, but Nova had seen him as a boar, remembered the long, vicious scar that had been carved along his side. “I guess so,” he said with a small nod. “I don’t really wanna live in a house anyway.”</p><p>“Good. It’d be stupid of you.”<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>Night crept in slow over the forest in the warm spring, but Meriwether dozed even with some of the late-evening sun beaming through trees on his face. He sprawled on his stomach in his nest, his chin resting on his folded arms, his eyes blocking out his familiar clearing with comfortable ease.</p><p>He thought Nova had fallen asleep earlier but he heard a rustle that pricked his ears. Remaining still, curious to see if he’d dare try to sneak a bite, he listened to soft footsteps approach his nest. Nova circled around it once and Meriwether could hear the brushy swish of his tail over the ground as he seemed to debate something.</p><p>Something slid carefully into his nest with him, and Meriwether’s eye opened slightly as Nova cuddled up to his back.</p><p>That was new, he thought, neck and face tingling with warmth.</p><p>Nova exhaled a content sigh, probably happy to have a man as good as a heater to snuggle against, and rested his head against Meriwether’s back. He could definitely hear the rustles of a wagging tail and pondered ‘stirring’ just to tease Nova, but...</p><p>Goodness, when was the last time Meriwether was cuddled?</p><p>Smothering a grin, Meriwether shut his eye and relaxed.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>“Meriwether?”</p><p>He stirred slowly to Nova’s troubled voice, cracking open an eye and gazing upward. It was night, sure enough, but the bright moonlight made it easy to see him. He was sitting stiff, staring off into the distance, and had one hand set, tense and gripping, on Meriwether’s shoulder.</p><p>“What?” He sat up as well and, as he followed Nova’s gaze, saw it.</p><p>Plumes of smoke.</p><p>Meriwether leapt to his feet with a rough sound and then he was in the bestial form he knew well, snorting and pawing angrily at the ground with tough hooves. Nova jumped to his side and led the way, darting four-legged and sure through the trees with Meriwether hot on his heels. Every instinct said to run <em>away</em> from the fire burning, but they chased it down like they were hunting prey.</p><p>At the edge of the woods, within the shelter of the trees, the two animals peered out.</p><p>A great brick house, and three men laughing and throwing more wood onto an enormous bonfire they’d built outside it. They danced to music, other men and women from places unknown joined them, and Meriwether growled low in his throat, a sonorous and weighty rumbling that shook the earth beneath their feet.</p><p>“I told them,” he said, “not to pretend to be humans. Pigs shouldn’t live in houses. Now look. Too human. All human.”</p><p>Nova shrunk back, horrified. “Damn,” he hissed.</p><p>Meriwether shook his head, nudged Nova with his snout to urge him back into the forest. Nova stumbled, but quickly found his footing and prowled uneasily back the way they’d come, tail hanging low.</p><p>Meriwether lingered on the edge of the forest, staring at the dancing shapes that had once been pigs and exhaling a furious snort through his nostrils before following Nova.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p>
  <em><br/>A long time ago in a forest far, far away innumerable creatures lived. It was an animal’s world, hunter and hunted, but it was a familiar world. Though these animals could be strange and often take on other shapes, they lived and abided by the forest’s rules and by the ways of their ancestors. None of them truly wanted to be human but they had been granted a magic to make their lives easier and to make keeping peace with others easier.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>However... for those who took that power too far, for those who stood on hind legs and acted like humans, those animals became humans.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So Meriwether saw of his family, watched them walk on two legs, watched them embrace their human side wholly and eagerly leave the woods behind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When they met, hunters and prey, they knew him no longer. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>For their eyes saw only a boar, no matter which form he took.<br/><br/></em>
</p><hr/><p><br/>Meriwether watched Nova pace their clearing, irritated puffs of breath leaving his mouth every so often. His nostrils would frequently flare and he’d glare, staring through the trees and growling softly at an unseen enemy.</p><p>“I’ll blow it down,” he said, possibly for the fifth time that day.</p><p>Meriwether groaned softly, palming his forehead. “It’s a brick house,” he replied, probably also for the fifth time that day.</p><p>“They’re so <em>close</em>, Meriwether!” Nova exclaimed, slashing his hand through the air. “It’s <em>dangerous</em>! They’ll come hunting soon enough! They’re not just gonna be happy with fruits and vegetables in their little garden, they’re gonna want <em>meat</em>.”</p><p>Meriwether’s scar itched. “I know,” he muttered.</p><p>Nova approached him, crouching down in front of him. His hand lifted, hesitated, and then closed the distance. He brushed Meriwether’s shaggy brown hair behind one ear and touched his cheek with gentle fingertips, his blue eyes swimming with worry. “I don’t want them hunting you,” Nova said softly, so sweet and tender it could break someone’s heart.</p><p>It was funny, really. Nova had been harsh and snapping and now he wanted to protect. Just like a wolf, Meriwether thought, they found <em>pack</em> so quickly, found love with such certainty, and he wondered if this was thanks to the magic that ran through them all. At the very least, he had to thank that magic for <em>something</em>, the ability to allow them to communicate like this.</p><p>He lifted a hand and took Nova’s, intertwining their fingers. His palm was damp, nervous, so Meriwether squeezed his fingers reassuringly.</p><p>Nova’s gaze dropped briefly, his cheeks reddening, before lifting it to Meriwether’s face. He leaned in, hesitant, lips parted slightly, his warm breath wafting against Meriwether’s chin. Nova was watching his lips, a welcome hunger in his expression.</p><p>Before their lips could meet, a terrifying <em>BOOM</em> shook the forest.</p><p>Birds screeched, lifting from the trees, Meriwether heard the trampling of hooves and paws as all animals fled as one and he flinched, grabbing Nova and pulling him close. He clutched him to his chest, glaring protectively around their clearing, their home, as the aftershocks of the sound seemed to echo.</p><p>“The humans have guns,” Meriwether announced grimly. “But while they’re in the forest, who’s watching the house?”</p><p>Nova gazed up at him, wide-eyed. Meriwether gave him a solemn smile.</p><p>“We can’t blow it down, but how about we knock it down?”<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>Bricks rained down on Meriwether as he slammed his enormous, bristling body into the house. The foundation creaked and groaned and Nova growled where he bit angrily with his teeth at wooden supports, doing his best to dig them up and pull them out. The boar huffed a winded breath, his pelt sweaty, his muscles aching from exertion.</p><p>They’d built it firm, he thought, and glanced back toward the woods.</p><p>“Rather hard, isn’t it?” he gasped to Nova.</p><p>Nova’s ears drooped and his tongue lolled from his jaws as he gazed upward helplessly.</p><p>That spark of hope in his eyes was starting to dim.</p><p>But, if anything, Meriwether was stubborn. And as he hated humans, so too did the creatures of the forest. It wasn’t often he asked for help, but...</p><p>He turned, sucking in a deep breath of air, and bellowed.</p><p>It wasn’t as loud as the gunshot that had shattered the peaceful stillness, but it was unmistakeable and it carried far. Nova’s ears winced from the sound and then he bounded quickly to Meriwether’s side. Drawing in his own deep breath, he howled, drawing his head back, letting the sound soar up to the sky.</p><p>A rumble of an earthquake heralded creatures of all kinds.</p><p>Hunter or hunted, a treaty fell between the animals of the forest when humans were about. Bricks and foundations may have held against two animals but against the onslaught of the forest, against bear and deer, against the slithering snakes and burrowing termites, no human habitation could survive an onslaught of nature.</p><p>Bricks rained down and, somewhere, Meriwether thought he heard a human’s cry of horror.</p><p>Gunshots sounded and the mass of animals trampled the house by the trees, then turned in a great wave on the source of the sound itself.</p><p>When all animals, large and small, had returned to their homes, everything was silent and peaceful once more.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>They’d returned in the hush following, Nova pressing close to his side as they walked. They were both exhausted, as to be expected, but Meriwether’s mind was still sharp. Now that the threat was gone, he thought of kisses and of Nova, the warmth of his fingers.</p><p>Truly, he’d been fascinated by him since the day he’d arrived.</p><p>Nova was shy about cuddling when Meriwether watched him, never mind that he’d almost gone for a kiss earlier that same day. He was even more hesitant when himself and Meriwether—at Meriwether’s insistence—had taken a bath in the lake just a half hour after they’d returned to the clearing.</p><p>But Meriwether was cold and it was quite unfair that a nice, warm wolf was fidgeting too far away out of embarrassment and self-consciousness.</p><p>“I only touched you a little,” he called to him. “I was helping you wash.”</p><p>“You were <em>not</em>,” Nova growled, flushed and indignant. It was a charming look on him, Meriwether thought.</p><p>“Just come here. I want to snuggle.”</p><p>Nova growled again, wordlessly, but combined with a flush and a puppy-dog glare... it made him terribly cute. Meriwether chuckled quietly and offered a hand to him, beckoning him, and this time Nova didn’t resist. He did <em>slink</em> like a wary animal but he came, crawling to lay next to Meriwether, face-to-face instead of up against his back as usual.</p><p>Meriwether realised why now, of course. He couldn’t see Nova blush when Nova cozied up against his back.</p><p>Tilting up Nova’s chin, he kissed him softly, felt his whole body tremble and then his arms latch with unexpected strength around Meriwether. They kissed in the peaceful forest clearing until Meriwether felt full and contented in a way he had never felt before. Or, if he had felt this way, it had been so long that he had forgotten what it felt like.</p><p>They kissed until Nova, with trembling tail but clutching hands, pushed Meriwether on his back and settled straddling his middle.</p><p>“I love you,” he said defiantly, as though he were trying to pick a fight.</p><p>Meriwether laughed, taking one of his hands and squeezing. “I love you too,” he replied peaceably.</p><p>The peaceful forest night continued on, unbroken, the bricks of a distant house slowly settling further into the earth where they belonged.</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>its much more dialogue-focused than some of the others but, well, the three little pigs isn't exactly heavy on the plot LOL</p><p>i had a lot of fun with it tho it took an unexpected dark turn in places... oops</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Three Little Pigs: Bonus Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Meriwether!”</p><p>The sound of his name might have startled him had he not heard Nova’s swift, worried approach. He made a sound of easy acknowledgement, not breaking his gaze from the treeline and—beyond—the wreckage of what had once been a building. Humans stood in a circle near it, talking among themselves and occasionally darting nervous looks toward the forest which stood still and quiet, as if aware that it had people watching it.</p><p>Meriwether kept concealed and he reached a hand leisurely to grab the scruff of Nova’s neck as the wolf broke through the brush. He pushed him down gently-but-firmly, assuring his concealment below the bushes as he briefly spluttered (a funny noise coming from a wolf’s snout).</p><p>“Shh now,” he said and absently stroked Nova’s head, feeling fur morph to soft, thick hair.</p><p>“Meriwether,” he hissed again, his eyes narrowed and darting between Meriwether and the humans beyond the trees.</p><p>“Hmm-mm. Heard you the first time you said my name.”</p><p>“It’s dangerous,” Nova said, his voice reverberating with a deep, protective growl.</p><p>Meriwether, who thought him even more attractive when he was being protective, smiled absently and leaned into his side. Nova’s sound stopped abruptly in surprise, even more when Meriwether blindly moved his hand until he could hook it firmly above his hip.</p><p>“It’s all right,” he said. “I was just havin’ a look.”</p><p>The humans were departing even as they spoke and Meriwether was glad to straighten up, stretching his body, popping up on his toes before relaxing with his hands swinging down. He could feel Nova’s eyes boring a hole into him and ignored it for a moment or two before gradually bringing their gazes to meet. Nova blinked once, slowly, then narrowed his eyes as he scrutinised Meriwether.</p><p>He stood before him, leaning in close, close enough their noses could touch if Meriwether tipped up his face. Meriwether was sure Nova wasn’t aware of the closeness, so set on the task he had in mind of making sure Meriwether was all right, and thus—</p><p>Sweeping his hand firmly around Nova’s waist, he pulled him in that breath of distance and kissed him long and slow. He lingered, tasting his mouth and swallowing Nova’s surprised hitching gasp, eating up the sound that followed with a flick of his tongue. His hand wandered up a slender, muscular back until Nova arched, pressing into him, welcoming his attention and affection even while being surprised.</p><p>Then it ended and Meriwether murmured lazily to Nova’s damp lips, “I’m fine, y’know. I won’t go charging out at humans for no reason. Just gotta keep an eye on ‘em when they’re around.”</p><p>Nova’s gaze was cloudy and it took a minute for him to refocus. When he did, the fur on his ears and tail bristled slightly and his cheeks flushed. “I...! Well, when you’re gone when I wake up, I can’t help but worry about you!”</p><p>Meriwether smiled and kissed his chin, nipping playfully when Nova shivered. “Sorry for leaving you by your lonesome.”</p><p>“I’m fine with it,” Nova growled stubbornly.</p><p>Maybe sometimes he was, Meriwether thought, but not today. And that was important to him.</p><p>He ran his hand through hair where the gray most noticeably changed to black, that gradient of monochrome colours he liked to play with, tug apart to observe the complexity of it when they lay together in Meriwether’s glade. When Nova’s gaze dropped he pressed their foreheads together and sighed contentedly.</p><p>“I’m sick of watching humans,” Meriwether told him, “I’d rather go back and watch <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Nova’s cheeks flushed and he frowned at Meriwether before defiantly grabbing his hand. He nuzzled him, kissed his palm with a hint of bite and, to Meriwether’s pleasant surprise, declared, “I’m going to be the one watching you today. Be prepared.”</p><p>Meriwether laughed and the merry sound echoed off the trees as they headed into the forest, Nova’s sheepish smile soon swallowed up by the safe shadow of branches.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Briar Rose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, a king and queen learned the hard way to always have enough cutlery on-hand to account for guests.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For, if you invite twelve magical fairies to celebrate your daughter’s birth but don’t invite the thirteenth due to a lack of plates... well, wouldn’t have it been better to forgo your own cutlery and flatware instead?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But, no—</em>
</p><p><em>Instead of giving up their golden knives and forks (quite a useless metal, really, gold is, quite soft and not at all practical) they thought instead that </em>surely we just won’t invite him and everything will work out brilliantly<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>That thirteenth fairy in question arrived, uninvited, just in time to curse their newborn to die by the pricking of a spindle’s needle. An extreme reaction to someone not inviting you to a party, but the person in question was that kind of extreme man. The twelfth fairy, yet to give their blessing on the child, reduced that death sentence to one hundred years of sleep (why not one? ten, maybe? oh well).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Time came and went and, true to form, that princess found her spindle in a kingdom completely bereft of them—which meant someone wasn’t doing their job—and not just the princess Briar Rose but the entire castle fell into a hundred’s-year sleep. Everything, from pigeons to leaves to cooks about to box the ears of a wincing kitchen assistant, everything fell asleep where it was.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One hundred years later, a handsome princely chap came waltzing into the palace, smooched the princess Briar Rose and lifted the curse. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But don’t kiss people without their consent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We don’t care about them, though.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How about that kitchen assistant about to get his ears boxed?</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>“Gah!” yelped Hugh as a meaty fist sailed past one of his ears.</p><p>Cook, red-faced and furious, glowered at the ineffectiveness of his punch and reared back to take another one. Hugh was quick, used to being speedy to dodge trouble, and ducked this one as well, making a mad dash to the kitchen doors.</p><p>“Hugh, get the <em>hell</em> back here, or I swear!” Cook roared.</p><p>“See you later, boss!” Hugh called over one shoulder, booking it down the corridor.</p><p>‘It was just a bit of supper,’ he thought petulantly, oblivious to the fact that he’d just been roused from a hundred-year nap. He felt slightly groggy, but it had been a blink to someone sleeping, especially a person who didn’t remember sleeping. ‘He doesn’t have to be so chintzy.’</p><p>He’d nicked more than his fair share of ‘bits of supper’, but who was counting?</p><p>He darted around the corridor corner, slowing his dash to a light jog as he entered the main area of the castle. Things were bustling as usual, servants and visitors, but there was something a bit odd about it all. He frowned slightly and peered toward the huge windows that peered outward onto the castle’s expansive lawn.</p><p>What was that? A hedge? He didn’t remember a hedge being there.</p><p>...Hold on. It was moving.</p><p>Hugh stopped short, nervously swiping a hand through his mop of dirty-blond hair. Others had noticed, were murmuring to one another, before one servant by the doors to the castle decided to open up and have a look.</p><p>An enormous towering wall, covered in blooming roses—and were those <em>skeletons stuck in it?!—</em>was shrinking down slowly. It was obvious that it had once reached up further, had probably encased the castle in some messed-up foliage dome of death, but it was shrinking slowly but surely, sending skeleton bones bleached from the sun rattling to the cobblestones and grass.</p><p>Hugh gaped, open-mouthed, so did the others.</p><p>Someone screamed, more people panicked, others shouted expletives that perfectly summed up how Hugh was feeling at the moment.</p><p>He backed up and turned around, sweat trickling down his cheek, as he decided to ignore it. He hurried through a different servant’s door, resolved to go back to his room and lay down and pretend that he hadn’t seen a giant rosebush moving on its own. Yes. He was just having a waking nightmare, that was all. He’d sleep and things would be fine and chill and <em>normal</em> in the morning.</p><p>Except now there were more screams, commotion, but these ones were different—</p><p>Hugh, passing by another hall that led to circle the throne room and court, hesitated, foot hanging in the air. It couldn’t be any worse, right? He followed the sound, slinking quietly like a thief (even though he was, actually, an employee) toward one of the servant’s doors. He cracked it open, pressing his face to the gap and peered through.</p><p>There was a foppish man with blond hair standing next to the princess, talking to the king and queen and gesturing expansively. Hugh squinted and strained his hearing.</p><p>“—so, you see, it has actually been one hundred years. Your castle allowed me entrance and I awoke your daughter, and...”</p><p>“Well, you kissed me, and you didn’t really need to do that? I was waking up?”</p><p>“I—I mean, you just looked so beautiful—”</p><p>“That’s not an excuse.”</p><p>Princess Briar Rose looked pissed. Hugh quietly shut the door and leaned back.</p><p>Something bumped his back. Or, more accurately, he bumped into something that was right behind him. Immediately a cold sweat sprung on his neck and he imagined a monster like in those scary children's stories he was always told to stop reading before bed.</p><p>You know, with holes for eyes and mouth and—</p><p>He opened his mouth to scream, paused when he realised that wouldn’t be very manly, and snapped his mouth shut, whirling around instead and ready to sock a monster in the face.</p><p>It wasn’t a monster.</p><p>Rather, it was a very tall man, whose chest he’d knocked back into. He didn’t even seem to be paying attention to Hugh, scowling fiercely at the closed door as though he didn’t understand what had closed the gap. It was his height that threw Hugh off at first, but then he noticed something that spiralled upward from his skull, spreading like thin black tree branches.</p><p>Horns.</p><p>Something moved behind the man.</p><p>Hugh glanced and saw a long tail, long and dark violet.</p><p>Tail.</p><p>He looked up at the man again. His hair was so long and so black that it nearly reached the floor and most of it hung over his face. But Hugh could glimpse angry red eyes through those thin strands of hair.</p><p>“Hey,” he said.</p><p>The man didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“Dude. You’re in my space. Back off.”</p><p>The man—monster? Demon?—stumbled back when Hugh shoved him in the chest to force him back. He startled, tossing his head, and whirled his gaze left and right. His lips parted and Hugh saw teeth sharper than your usual person’s. <em>Vampire</em>. No. Probably not a vampire, sunlight was beaming through a nearby window and he wasn’t disintegrating or sparkling at all.</p><p>“I’m down here,” Hugh said flatly.</p><p>At last, eyes swung to look down at him and the man pulled his lips into a frown. “Oh, you’re what closed the door. I thought there was a ghost,” he said dismissively, extending a pale slender hand tipped with long, sharp violet nails toward the door Hugh had closed.</p><p>“Whoa there,” he said, pushing the man to force him away. “That’s not a good plan.”</p><p>“<em>You—</em>do you know who you’re speaking to?”</p><p>“Uh, no, but I know that some guy is about to get in a whole world of royal trouble.” Hugh shot a look over his shoulder at the door, then squinted at the tall, creepy man. “And I, for one, don’t wanna listen to the royal Pops verbally dismantle some guy. Also, there might be something big to worry about that I’m planning on avoiding.”</p><p>The man’s outstretched hand shifted, fluttering upward to his chin and he chuckled ominously. “Ha... something ‘big’, oh yes. You unfortunate soul. Your lost hundred years—”</p><p>“<em>La la la la la la</em>,” Hugh said loudly, slapping his palms over his ears. The man frowned, offended, at him, but Hugh promptly turned and walked away from the source of trouble. Unfortunately for him, he could feel the man following after him. He had that kind of creepy presence, and Hugh had always been good at picking up eyes on his back.</p><p>“There is no use delaying the inevitable,” the man said when Hugh allowed one palm to lift slightly for a moment.</p><p>“<em>LA LA LA LA</em>,” Hugh sang, far more aggressively than before.</p><p>He was pretty sure the man was scoffing at him.</p><p>Hugh kept moving, keeping his steps rhythmic and making sure to sing as loud and off-key as he could whenever he heard so much as an inhale from behind him. Why was the man following him? Someone that tall and hulking surely had evil potions to be brewing? Surely had to be gathering some eyes of newt and toad warts and pushing his way through some steaming, deadly swamp in search of such insidious ingredients?</p><p>Except—</p><p>Hugh, at the doorway of his room, frowned and dropped his hands from his ears, turning to look behind him.</p><p>The man was still there, looking haughtily at him as though the outside of the little doorway to Hugh’s quarters was just where he ought to be. His red gaze shifted briefly, looking over Hugh’s head and into the room where the furnishings were minimal and the possessions even more so, a bed worn from years of use (and passed through more than a few owners).</p><p>His lips curled and, from this closer distance, Hugh observed they were painted dark violet, the same colour as his tail. He thought he saw shadow of the same colour smeared on his eyelids.</p><p>... It didn’t make him look any less like a demon.</p><p>“Listen, buddy,” Hugh said, placing himself firmly in his doorway. “I don’t got room in here for guests. As you can see. Anyway, why did you follow me?”</p><p>The man opened his mouth, eyes flashing with triumph—and then he stopped, paused. He frowned down at Hugh accusingly as though Hugh had dragged him this entire way.</p><p>A thick silence muddied the air between them and, finally, Hugh sighed.</p><p>“You forgot, didn’t you?”</p><p>“<em>Of course I did not forget.</em>”</p><p>Hugh, were he more in possession of self-preservation instincts, would’ve chosen an earlier moment to scarper. Not when the tall, imposing man was blocking his only way of escape. He probably wouldn’t also be needling him and making the glimpses of pale skin he could see through his hair flush an indignant red.</p><p>But Hugh was not in possession of self-preservation instincts, for self-preservation instincts do not a protagonist make.</p><p>“Okay, well, if you remember—”</p><p>“You are a servant!” the man squawked, interrupting him. “You will see to me! I am a guest in this castle, and a <em>powerful </em>one.”</p><p>Hugh gazed, dull-eyed, up at him.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that.” The man frowned again, deeper still. “I can see that you don’t want to, but I demand that you serve me.”</p><p>“Whaddya want me to getcha?”</p><p>“Why were you not tossed out on your ass a hundred years ag—”</p><p>“LA LA LA LA.”</p><hr/><p>The man’s name was Gustave, and he was a fairy.</p><p>Not just any fairy, but the one responsible for the skeleton-rosebush-dome outside of their fair castle. He was responsible for a hundred-year sleep that Hugh had just woke up from and was desperately still trying to avoid thinking about. He was responsible for very many things, and he informed Hugh of such while studying his long, painted nails smugly.</p><p>Hugh, still wondering why Gustave had decided to follow him, reluctantly escorted him to one of the oft-used receiving areas and served him tea and snacks from the kitchen while Gustave critiqued his manners and poise.</p><p>“I will wait ‘til, as you said, the ‘royal trouble’ ends,” Gustave said, pinky out as he held his teacup and saucer, “and then you will guide me to the throne room.”</p><p>Hugh gazed distractedly toward the window, thinking about how<em> he</em> also wanted to eat snacks.</p><p>“Of course, I will have you fetch me someone <em>proper</em> to introduce me,” the fairy continued, his long violet tail curled next to him on the floor like a snake. It kept flicking, like that of a contented cat. “I can’t have your warbling voice screeching off the walls to herald me.”</p><p>“If I’m warbling,” Hugh said, “it’s not my fault.”</p><p>Gustave just sniffed, unimpressed, and took another lofty sip of tea.</p><p>Hugh grudgingly hung near the wall, watching the fairy have his one-man tea party in the centre of the receiving room. He’d had Hugh pull all the curtains and he now, unfortunately, had to look out at the castle grounds decorated quite festively for All Hallows Eve, with the amount of bones tossed here and there.</p><p>Gustave gazed out the window for a long moment, frowned, and commented, “Rather unsightly, isn’t it?”</p><p>“That’s why I didn’t want to open the curtains.”</p><p>“Hm.” The fairy scrunched his nose, shook his curtain of black hair, and returned to his snacks.</p><p>‘Well, aren’t you holding up well?’ Hugh thought sarcastically. If it weren’t for the fairy, there wouldn’t be skeletons <em>out</em> there, nor would Hugh be frantically trying not to think about the fact that a hundred years had passed by and the world beyond the castle was a complete unknown.</p><p>The more he tried not to think about it, the more he ended up thinking about it, until—</p><p>“Guess it’s a good thing I’m an orphan,” he said aloud.</p><p>Gustave turned bewildered red eyes on him, staring through his hair. “What on earth prompted that?” he asked.</p><p>“Well, if a hundred years went by, then that would mean my family was dead,” Hugh said. “And I’d have to deal with it. So—I guess it’s good that I’m an orphan and my only friends... sort-of friends live and work here, in the castle. So they’re still around.”</p><p>Gustave’s mouth fell open, displaying his sharp teeth, and he looked so...</p><p>“You didn’t think about that when you cursed everyone, huh?” Hugh said, not without sympathy. “Good for you, you managed to find the one servant who probably wouldn’t try to shiv you.” He made an expressive stabbing gesture with one hand and Gustave abruptly snapped his face away with a throaty sound of dismissal.</p><p>...However.</p><p>The longer Hugh stood there, thinking and silent, the more he noticed Gustave was shifting in his seat, he was bringing his thumb to his lips like he was chewing on his viciously long nail. If he <em>really</em> squinted through the bangs, he was sure Gustave’s red eyes were roving all around the room, as though desperate for a distraction for the thought Hugh planted in his brain.</p><p>“I have changed my mind,” Gustave announced suddenly, almost fifteen minutes of fidgeting later. “I will not bother with the royalty today, they’re hardly worthy of my time.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>
  <em>You’re feeling guilty now.</em>
</p><p>Hugh wondered how time passed for immortal, preternatural beings like fairies. Did the time go quicker or did it drag like a Sunday afternoon working in the kitchens, staring out of the window and wondering <em>when on earth he could just </em>go home<em> already</em>? Had Gustave been nursing his hurt for one hundred years with the memory fresh as it had been when it happened, or had it begun to fade like a human’s?</p><p>He brushed his own thoughts aside, yawned, and walked over to start collecting cutlery. “Need me to walk you out?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Gustave said snootily, “and you shall accompany me, so gather your things.”</p><p>“I what now?”</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Hugh sighed down at the mushrooms under his hands, working it free from the resistant soil and grumbling under his breath about bossy fairies and unpaid labour and how he hoped they’d unionized in the last hundred years—</p><p>“Oh, would you stop whining? It isn’t as though I’m asking you to carve up a body,” Gustave said with a loud sigh.</p><p>“Mushrooms eat bodies,” Hugh said darkly. “Close enough.”</p><p>Gustave sighed again, louder even, and his feet swept into view as he came to stand before Hugh. “We’re almost done,” he said crossly and jerked his index finger at the basket that had become Hugh’s job to fill. “Gather the rest in this area, and then we will go back to my home.”</p><p><em>Go here</em>, <em>go there</em>, no wonder—</p><p>“Maybe this was why they didn’t invite you,” Hugh whispered under his breath.</p><p>Immediately, he regretted it.</p><p>He saw Gustave jerk in his periphery and, when he looked up at the towering fairy with his frightening appearance and the long coils of his horns, he thought he saw his chin quivering behind his bangs. <em>Thought</em>, no, <em>knew</em>, for Gustave whipped away, bunching his tail up around his legs like he were trying to hug himself with it. Hugh groaned, dropped mushrooms into the basket and stood up, dusting the dirt and soil from his fingers.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said, walking after Gustave’s back. “Sorry, that wasn’t a nice thing to say.”</p><p>“No, it wasn’t.” Gustave sniffed slightly and didn’t turn to face him.</p><p>“I’m not dealing with my stress well and I’m taking it out on you,” Hugh continued, “though you <em>were</em> the one who cursed everyone to begin with.”</p><p>“I—I am aware of that.”</p><p>At least, Hugh thought, he sounded vaguely contrite about it now. He should’ve really looked back at his actions during the hundred-year sleep and not afterwards, needing to be told by a grimy little kitchen assistant.</p><p>“I think you overreacted,” Hugh informed him bluntly, the understatement of the century, “but, I don’t really know you, so I shouldn’t act like no-one likes you and that’s why they didn’t invite you. ‘Cause they probably don’t care, ‘cause they’re royals and royals don’t care about anyone. People too, they just don’t care.”</p><p>Gustave paused then, barked a small ‘ha!’ of laughter that rung hollow, before turning.</p><p>“No-one <em>does</em> like me,” he said dryly. “Though, at this juncture, perhaps I am starting to see why.”</p><p>Hugh, who didn’t know how to feel about him either way, awkwardly said, “There there.” He extended a hand, dirty as it was, and clapped Gustave several times on the shoulder in comfort. The fairy stared down at him the entire time like Hugh had come from an alien planet.</p><p>“Anyway,” Gustave said, sighed, “I forgive you. I cannot begin to comprehend what your day is like, in hindsight, and here I am, dragging you out in the forest to collect mushrooms without explaining a thing to you. Behaving as though you are obligated to obey me, when in fact I don’t pay your salary at all and you have no reason to follow me around.”</p><p>The more he spoke, the more dejected he seemed to get. His tall figure was folding in on itself like paper, Gustave’s fingers fiddling with each other as he stared down at the ground.</p><p>Hugh rubbed the side of his neck awkwardly.</p><p>“Cheer up, mister mushroom,” he said at last. “Lets get the rest of your mysterious ingredients for your mysterious potion and you can explain to me what you’re trying to do when you feed me something at your house. No enchanted apples or evil things, just something tasty.”</p><p>Gustave jerked his face up. “How did you know I was going to make a potion?”</p><p>“Because we’re in a <em>swamp</em>, gathering <em>toadstools</em>. You, dude, are a walking cliché.”</p><hr/><p>Gustave’s house was exactly as any witch’s house in any of the fairytale books would be depicted. It was a squat little cottage not far from the creepy swamp and Hugh saw more than a couple of mushrooms growing from the cottage walls themselves.</p><p>Mister mushroom indeed.</p><p>He sat on a stool, observing Gustave putting ingredients one after another into a cauldron, watching him move his hands over the cauldron and mumble spooky mumbo-jumbo.</p><p>“It’s a spell, not mumbo-jumbo,” Gustave retorted to Hugh’s inner-monologue-turned-external-dialogue.</p><p>“I can’t tell the difference,” Hugh replied and bit another hungry chunk from the sandwich that he’d been made. Though the spell and cauldron room was as expected, there was also a tidy little kitchenette with boxes and bits and bobs he had never seen in his life. He stared at a humming white rectangle with a door on it that Gustave had taken ingredients from and, when he asked, Gustave just told him not to worry about it.</p><p>“All right. And—there!” With a triumphant expression, Gustave ladled up a spoonful of the potion, fed it into a mug, and brought it over to Hugh.</p><p>When he offered it to him, Hugh stared at it, glared at him, and clutched his sandwich protectively closer.</p><p>Gustave frowned at him like he was acting unreasonably.</p><p>“I don’t drink magic potions,” Hugh stated. “Never started and got no plans on starting now.”</p><p><em>Munch</em>, he ate the sandwich instead.</p><p>“It’s meant to help,” Gustave said, slightly sullenly. “To set things to rights... though, after everything, I don’t really know how much this will help.”</p><p>Suspicious, Hugh narrowed his eyes and chewed aggressively on his food.</p><p>Gustave sighed. “It’s a memory potion,” he explained. “Anything you knew from a hundred years ago that’s gone today? You’ll forget it. It’ll be gone. There will be nothing there to grieve, nothing there to miss, simply... Nothing. You will live in the now without ever thinking about the past that’s long, long gone.”</p><p>Hugh slowly put down the sandwich and stared at the vivid mixture swirling in the mug.</p><p>“Is this how you plan on making things up to people?” he asked. “By having them just forget it instead?”</p><p>Gustave tensed his mouth, an unhappy line behind his bangs. “There’s nothing else that I <em>can</em> do. I can’t bring back the dead, I can’t turn back time, there are <em>limits</em>.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Hugh scoffed and leapt from the stool with a shake of his head. “You could start by just saying ‘sorry’. Say that you regret it and that you regret mixing up every innocent person in the castle who had nothing to do with a stupid party that didn’t really <em>mean</em> anything.”</p><p>“It meant something to <em>me</em>,” Gustave hissed, a thousand sentiments behind the vitriolic words that Hugh couldn’t begin to comprehend.</p><p>Then—the mug in Gustave’s hand shattered.</p><p>The bright potion mixture splattered on the floor and then it began to move, writhing and contorting. Hugh froze in place in shock, his eyes widening as he stared at Gustave as he seemed to change, to distort.</p><p>Blackness crawled down his skin and arms like syrup, dripping from the tips of his fingers. It was some kind of <em>magic</em>, some kind of magic that began to surround him, engulfing the few splashes of colour on his person. His cheeks, his ears, his forehead, the skin of his hands were swallowed by the blackness. It strangled air out of the cottage, it set Hugh’s ears to ringing and he shifted as though to move, to run for the door, but he couldn’t.</p><p>Something ebbed and flowed around his feet and rooted him to his place. Hugh stared down, lips parting, as the magic clung to his feet, his ankles, crawling up along his legs as the shadowy shape that <em>had</em> been Gustave rocked and writhed in front of him, some keening sound echoing from it.</p><p>Rather than feeling panicked, the sensation that came over Hugh was just... defeat.</p><p>The magic numbed his feet and his legs and, as it crawled higher, it further robbed sensations and warmth.</p><p>Hugh felt as though he were slowly disappearing, as though he would be consumed by this magic and sink down into it. Like the stormy ocean, it would swallow the unwary traveller without giving them barely a second to react.</p><p>They would be gone forever, and no-one would know or care.</p><p>Hugh sighed and closed his eyes.</p><p>“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with,” he said.</p><p>The numbing sensation stopped. So did sound, did consciousness, a thin whistle of air sucked from his ears and leaving him deaf. Hugh blinked and saw nothing, nothing but dark all around him but realised he could move. He shifted his feet on a black floor with no give, no substance.</p><p>It was like he was looking at the inside of his eyelids, though he knew he was awake. If he lifted his hands, he couldn’t see them.</p><p>This state of <em>non-being</em> chilled him <em>but</em> he could move, so he did.</p><p>He did, until he kicked something and pulled up short.</p><p>He couldn’t see him, but knew that Gustave was huddled up in the dark, knew he was sitting with his knees to his chest and his hands on his head. He was curled up like a child, burying himself in the darkness and trying to make himself disappear.</p><p>Hugh sat beside him, pulled up his knees and looked at nothing.</p><p>“They hated me for this,” Gustave told him, in a voice that existed yet didn’t. It was more as though their thoughts intertwined, as though he could comprehend without <em>needing</em> to put them to voice. “The fairies, whomever, they all hated this <em>magic</em> I have. They hated it so much that I hated it too. They always left me out of things, they snubbed me, I knew they called me cursed behind my back. No matter if it’s just dark, if it’s just nighttime, they hated it <em>and</em> me.”</p><p>Hugh let him keep talking, his mind curiously empty yet full of thoughts and memories that weren’t his own. He saw a child, a young Gustave, though a filter that sputtered, burned in places, but the harshest memories were sharp and bright.</p><p>Hands slapping his reaching ones away, the wide-eyed terror and fear masked behind tense smiles, the quick steps carrying people he desperately wanted to befriend away from him.</p><p>Exclusion. Loneliness. Fear.</p><p>“They were frightened of me, so I was frightened of me too. Even though there wasn’t anything to be frightened of, mother always said.”</p><p>Mother. Extended hands and a loving embrace.</p><p>Then, gone—gone in a way magic couldn’t fix, no matter <em>who</em> you were.</p><p>“I wanted to just... I wanted to belong. I wanted to be seen, respected, I wanted them not to be <em>frightened</em> when they so much as <em>looked</em> at me. They didn’t have to do much. Anyone would’ve done. Anybody at all.</p><p>“When I heard of the gathering, I was excited. I made—a gift, special. It was beautiful and it was meant to protect the child and to give her the protection that I never had. But then no invitation came and I wondered why. I heard that the others had gotten theirs, but where was mine? Had they forgotten about me? But they hadn’t. They just—excluded me. Like always. Everyone else infected the people here. The others turned everyone else against me.</p><p>“...That’s what I thought had happened.”</p><p>Gustave’s presence in the dark was small and cowering, as opposed to his presence in the daylight. He let the magic wrap him, diminish him, so too did words from others furrow into his brain and form this... this <em>cocoon</em> of insecurity and grief around him. Paranoia. Mistrust.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll never be included. No-one will ever want me around. No-one will ever care for me.</em>
</p><p><em>No-one will ever</em> love me<em>.</em></p><p>Hugh exhaled, thought he did, and brushed aside Gustave’s thoughts and his memories to replace them with his own.</p><p>A boy standing hungry and battered, staring with envious greed at the plates others had. The orphanage staff, who frowned at his misbehaviour, his bad habits, the way he would steal no matter how many times he was told <em>no</em>. Or to <em>stop</em>.</p><p>They all saw him and all they saw was a weight, one more mouth to feed, one more coin that could’ve gone toward a better child. A kinder child. A cuter child. A child who behaved well, listened, who acted how they wanted.</p><p>They didn’t fear him, no, they did less than that. They didn’t <em>care</em>. He was an obligation. He was a burden. He was alone. Even his parents hadn’t cared; they hadn’t kept him. They didn’t care and no-one would ever care and, as a grim-faced child, Hugh had accepted this.</p><p>
  <em>No-one will ever love me.</em>
</p><p>But it wasn’t desperate but resigned, an acceptance of facts, impartial truths.</p><p>“Hugh,” Gustave’s voice, tiny and sad, trying out a name Hugh had never actually given to him and that he hadn’t asked for.</p><p>Because perhaps Gustave, too, just hadn’t <em>cared</em>. Who was Hugh? Who <em>cared </em>who he was?</p><p>It didn’t affect Hugh that one hundred years had gone by. He looked in from the outside and saw people happy, people with their loving families, and he knew it would affect them. He knew how because he knew how it affected <em>him</em> to have never had such things. If he had ever had a family like others had, if he had lost them like others had, he would be beyond grief, beyond anger, his life would be a chasm.</p><p>If he then lost his memories of them, he would be left with a cavernous void with nothing to fill it. He would be left with spectres, dust motes of beings he’d never remember without even the barest trace of their love he could hold onto.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gustave whispered. “I won’t. I promise. I’ve done enough.”</p><p>Hugh agreed without words, sat there in the darkness with the terrifying, powerful fairy reduced to just a curled-up spectre of himself.</p><p>“Can we go back soon?” he asked and Gustave, after a brief hesitation, agreed.</p><p>With a <em>suck</em> and a <em>pop</em>, Hugh gasped a lungful of air and felt and saw his hands.</p><p>He staggered on his feet and collapsed on the floor, the floor that was a nice wood and not simply the tides of Gustave’s dark, black magic.</p><p>He shivered violently, continually, as though with a fever. His teeth chattered as he adjusted to the world he’d been spit back out into. Everything seemed too bright and colourful, too much sunlight and too much sound.</p><p>“Oh, no.”</p><p>Gustave’s voice was still tiny, as it had been, even as his towering form knelt in front of Hugh with eyes wide and dismayed.</p><p>“‘O-oh no’, what?” Hugh chattered, blinking as his gaze readjusted, as his ears popped.</p><p>Gustave visibly hesitated, red eyes swimming with unshed tears, and pointed.</p><p>Hugh’s legs, from the tips of his toes to his knees, were completely black.</p><hr/><p>It didn’t <em>hurt</em>, thankfully. He could even <em>feel</em> his legs, just as he normally could. However, they had been dyed black like they’d been dipped in ink and no amount of frantic rubbing or potion concocting on Gustave’s part seemed to do any good.</p><p>“S-something to do with when I... when I dragged you in, I’m <em>so sorry</em>.”</p><p>Having a tall, horned, long-haired man repeatedly cleaning his feet and legs was a really weird experience, Hugh thought, more bothered by that than the darkness. It looked as though he had pulled on some very... very, very, very dark stockings. That would probably never come off.</p><p>“Well, you didn’t kill me, at least,” Hugh said with a dry tone.</p><p>Gustave stared at his legs so unhappily, hands gripping warm water and sponge, that Hugh awkwardly moved to pat his head.</p><p>“It’s fine, it’s—whatever.” Hugh shrugged helplessly and lolled his head backward. “I can still feel them, they just look kind of funky.”</p><p>Gustave sighed, a pitiful and quavering sigh so Hugh patted his head again.</p><p>“I think it got a bit too serious in there,” Hugh muttered. “It’s hard to cope with humour when you’re mind-linking with a sad fairy, you know? I mean, it was all true, but I <em>do</em> have some friends now. Yeah, maybe they aren’t close and maybe they don’t really <em>love</em> me and I don’t really <em>love</em> them, but I’m not living a life of solitude.”</p><p>“But you still think that way, deep down. That no-one cares about you,” Gustave mumbled.</p><p>“...Maybe,” Hugh said vaguely.</p><p>“You were a bad choice.” Gustave sniffed a little, rubbing his face with both hands. He didn’t seem so high-and-mighty as earlier but, again, they’d locked minds so maybe he didn’t see the point in putting on airs anymore. Hugh shifted to towel off his damp legs, watching Gustave gripping the sponge as it sadly dripped-dripped into the bowl of warm water. “We’re too alike. I should’ve grabbed another servant.”</p><p>“Probably.” Hugh patted his head for the third time, feeling like he was patting an especially large, very sad dog. “Perk up a little, will you, mister mushroom? I can see ‘em growing on you as we speak.”</p><p>“You can not.”</p><p>But Gustave sucked in a deep breath, stood up to rub his face, and returned the bowl to the kitchenette while Hugh sat, wiggling his toes and considering them solemnly. He reclined back against the chair he’d been sitting in and tipped his chin, gazing at the ceiling.</p><p>“Maybe it is best not to do anything else,” he said aloud. “At all, I mean. Not even apologising.”</p><p>Gustave’s movements in the kitchenette slowed and Hugh caught his eye as the fairy gazed skeptically toward him.</p><p>“You won’t ever be able to make it up to people,” he pointed out. “And if you show up in front of them, well—what happens if you freak out and you do the magic dark wave again?”</p><p>Gustave pursed his lips. He tucked his long black hair behind one ear, exposing for the first time the profile of an angular, exceptionally pretty face that was a shame to hide away behind spooky hair. “That might happen,” he admitted grudgingly.</p><p>“So maybe it’s better not to do anything,” Hugh mused. “Let them hate you from afar, as a figure who cursed their princess and castle. It’s not like they know where you live, or even if you’re alive anymore.”</p><p>“If they saw me today—”</p><p>“Dude, I put in extra effort so they <em>wouldn’t</em> see you. Weirdo giant man with horns and a tail roaming the castle?” Hugh clicked his tongue. “I told the kitchen you were some random dark knight when I went to get your tea and snacks. When I go back, I’ll hear if anyone spotted you anyway. I can make up some stupid story to cover you.”</p><p>Gustave looked down at his feet. “Is this the right thing to do?” he asked the floor.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Hugh replied. “But it’s what I think you should do.” He closed his eyes, stretched slightly. “I’m selfish, though.”</p><p>“... ha. Perhaps.”</p><hr/><p>His day had been too long, Hugh thought, and when Gustave made him use his bed in his cottage, he hadn’t the power to resist nor any reason to anymore.</p><p>His sleep was deep and uninterrupted by fairies or angry mobs, buried in a mountain of violet pillowcases and an even more violet duvet spattered with star designs.</p><p>When he awoke, Hugh was late to work, but he doubted anyone but Cook would notice. He lay in the huge, comfortable bed, peering sleepily out of the bedroom’s one window at trees, their leaves swaying gently in a spring’s breeze.</p><p>Gustave was still sleeping when he tip-toed out of the bedroom. He had compacted himself as best as possible to squeeze into an armchair to sleep. Even now he slept at an awkward angle, head held crookedly and his hair knotted slightly around the bases of his horns. His tail would twitch in sleep, lash on the floor, and then still.</p><p>Hugh looked at him thoughtfully, dressed in his grimy clothes from yesterday, and saw himself out.</p><p>His efforts had paid off. No-one <em>had</em> noticed Gustave, at least not from what he heard. Everyone was still too much in a tizzy over the hundred years that had passed.</p><p>...But, things sounded slightly different from what he imagined.</p><p>“So, my debt’s void now, right?” he heard one person saying. “Wahoo!”</p><p>“Thank god, my mother-in-law was a tyrant,” another was sighing in relief, “and my own parents and my wife’s here so I don’t have to worry about anything else!”</p><p>“My shares in corn have definitely shot right up,” another prided themselves. “I’m rich!”</p><p>‘I can’t believe I was concerned about all of you bastards,’ Hugh thought, thoroughly let down by the happy atmosphere of the castle.</p><p>Even the princess seemed happy, and her royal parents and all those fancy well to-do people. They were being briefed on the kingdom’s goings-on and it seemed that the surrounding lands were in disarray and there was lots of land to take for opportunistic tyrants.</p><p>Hugh was even more let down. Nobles in this country were shit.</p><p>By the time he left for the day, completely over whatever sympathetic feelings he had toward the people of the castle and their imagined suffering, Hugh was exhausted. He didn’t want to be in the castle anymore. Looking at everyone’s faces annoyed him when he’d been trapped in a dark mind prison with a very, very sad fairy who didn’t—it seemed—even need to be that sad.</p><p>A surplus of orphans also seemed to be hired at the castle, which Hugh was suspicious over but decided not to poke his nose into. Looking into the medieval labour trade was not a task he wanted to invest his entire life into.</p><p>When he left the castle, he marched his way back to the woods, back to the cottage, and knocked loudly.</p><p>Gustave was still in pyjamas when he opened the door and stared down at Hugh. They were satin and clung to his slender frame, making him look the furthest thing from intimidating. Especially since they were blue polka-dot.</p><p>“Oh,” he sputtered, “I didn’t think you would—you would come back. Ever.”</p><p>“I was, maybe not so soon but today just made me wanna come back here <em>right away</em>.” Hugh shifted past him, all of his meagre worldly possessions in a backpack on his shoulders and asked, “Do you need a roommate?”</p><p>“<em>Huh</em>?”</p><hr/><p>After Hugh had caught Gustave up to speed (the fairy was similarly aghast and then annoyed at all of the mental and emotional labour that had gone into people who weren’t even <em>sad</em>), they agreed on room division. Hugh sat back and watched him, bemused, as he eagerly did up a chore chart and magicked a room for Hugh into existence.</p><p>“Blue? Green?” Gustave asked excitedly. With every wave of his index finger, the room’s walls would change colour, until Hugh was starting to feel nauseous.</p><p>“<em>Dude, stop. </em>Just do it the same as yours for now.”</p><p>So he did, and so Hugh settled in.</p><p>Was this the ending of the story, he wondered. After a day that felt like a lifetime, he snuggled in under the plush covers of his brand-new bed and wondered where to go from here.</p><p><em>Anywhere,</em> he supposed.</p><hr/><p>“Oh.”</p><p>They were in a dark space, a familiar dark space—except Hugh could see himself this time. But he could <em>feel</em> emotions and thoughts that weren’t his own, gazed at Gustave across a sea of inky black magic curiously.</p><p>He seemed embarrassed. “Sorry. I guess our subconscious selves just kind of...” He waved his hands in a way that didn’t explain anything, cleared his throat, then corrected himself, “We’re sharing a dream space. Most likely.”</p><p>“Weird,” Hugh said, looking around, but a twinge of emotion brought his eyes swiftly snapping back to Gustave.</p><p>He was pulsing off... well, Hugh could only describe the emotion as <em>pink cotton-candy</em> and it seemed to dye the space. With bemusement, he watched Gustave flush in embarrassment as the black under his feet started to lighten, redden, so too the air starting to clear, an atmosphere and environment starting to form.</p><p>When they were sitting among fluffy pink clouds, Hugh asked the obvious, “Do you have a crush on me?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>. Maybe.” Gustave looked elsewhere, staring off determinedly. “Yes.”</p><p>“That was way too many answers for the one question.” Hugh snickered, looked at the hand propped against a cotton candy cloud, and reached over to touch it.</p><p>It wasn’t <em>physical sensation</em> so much as a deeper twining of whatever link they’d accidentally forged between themselves. Hugh was not an <em>I</em> so much as a <em>we</em> and bathed in emotions and thoughts that were his (but not his).</p><p>“That’s okay,” Hugh said contentedly. It felt nice to have all of this emotion directed at <em>him</em> and it seemed to fill and patch the holes in his heart that had always been missing. “I like that you like me.”</p><p>“Hmph.”</p><p>Petulance thrummed into him and he just snorted.</p><p>“You’re so quick with emotion, you have to give me a little bit to catch up,” Hugh told him, but he twined his fingers through Gustave’s and thought.</p><p>“<em>Hmph</em>.”</p><p>Gustave could <em>hmph</em> all he wanted, but Hugh felt the happy thrumming through him at their hands remained clasped and the fluffy love clouds moved in lazy swaying motions around them.</p><hr/><p>Weeks or perhaps months later, time didn’t matter so much when every day was relaxed and comfortable, Hugh rested his arms against the top of Gustave’s chair and peered curiously over his shoulder at his desk. He shot an offended look back, muttered something about ‘rude behaviour’ but didn’t try to stop him.</p><p>It was a letter to Briar Rose, written in loopy, overtly fancy writing.</p><p>The long and short of it was thus: Hey, hope you’re good, here’s a present. It’s magic and it’ll protect you. Enjoy.</p><p>Of course, the letter was actually quite beautiful in form, but Hugh lacked the attention span to read it through more than once and was happy with the mental summary he had come up with.</p><p>“I’m jealous,” he commented, watching Gustave wrapping a delicate anklet with paper and ribbon.</p><p>He promptly fumbled the jewellery and, spluttering, rounded on Hugh with an accusing red stare. “What do you mean, <em>jealous</em>?” he exclaimed. “I have made my feelings for you quite clear and you—you just come in, swan about my dreamscape and make comments and <em>do things</em> and you’re <em>jealous</em>! I don’t even know if you like me!”</p><p>Hugh blinked at his indignant pale face with its light violet lipstick and shadowed red eyes. He moved his hand, lifted hair from Gustave’s face, and leaned in close.</p><p>“I thought all of the times I kissed you would’ve clued you in,” he said.</p><p>Gustave’s cheeks flushed. “It did <em>not</em>.”</p><p>“What kind of people just kiss for no reason?” Hugh stared blandly at him. “You can <em>read my emotions</em> in the dreamscape. I can <em>feel</em> that you’re in love with me.”</p><p>“But I <em>said</em> it. That emotion I sensed could be anything else, you know.”</p><p>Hugh groaned and hung his head down. “Holy shit,” he mumbled at the floor. “I love you, Gustave. I guess I thought I didn’t have to say it.”</p><p>“Things aren’t that easy.” Gustave’s red eyes flashed when Hugh lifted his face again, but he seemed mollified. “...It’s always best to say it, to make certain the other person understands.”</p><p>He’d learned, slow but sure, their shared traumatic experience enough to kick him into change.</p><p>Hugh’s lips quirked into a smile and he combed all of Gustave’s hair out of his exceptionally beautiful face, sliding his fingertips up to trace the lines of his horns where they branched. Gustave sputtered a sound, dropped his gaze and glared a hole into Hugh’s knee while Hugh contented himself with playing with the horns, with moving his hands down to his pointed ears, thumbs caressing his earlobe.</p><p>“So, anyway,” Hugh continued. “I love you, and I’m jealous you’re sending a girl a piece of jewellery before you’ve even given <em>me</em> anything.”</p><p>Gustave muttered something.</p><p>“<em>Hmmm?</em> What was that, Mr. ‘It’s Always Best to Say It’?”</p><p>Gustave shot him a none-too-impressed look and said, blunt and embarrassed, “I was saving what I made for <em>you</em> for a special occasion.”</p><p>Hugh’s lips parted in faint surprise and then, slowly, he grinned and leaned closer.</p><p>“Is it a ring?” he murmured just an inch away from Gustave’s lips.</p><p>Gustave didn’t look at him. “It’s a surprise.”</p><p><em>It’s a ring,</em> whispered a thought that wasn’t his own.</p><p>Perhaps he’d let Gustave know, one of these days, that it looked like Hugh had gotten the ability to read his thoughts and emotions outside of his dreams.</p><p>But, later. At a time that it would be the most hilarious for Hugh.</p><p>He was busy pressing a kiss to Gustave’s waiting lips now, after all.</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i had a lot of trouble with this b4 i made them both just big sad mens and randomly incorporated a heckin mind meld</p><p>when in doubt write what u know.......... mental health issues</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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